


A Conspiracy of Cartographers: Year One [+podfic]

by picascribit



Series: A Conspiracy of Cartographers [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Not Pottermore Compliant, POC James Potter, Peter is an actual character, Podfic, Podfic Length: 7-10 Hours, Pre-Slash, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-06
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 93,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picascribit/pseuds/picascribit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1966-1972: A young wizard with a secret comes to Hogwarts and discovers that making friends is not so impossible as he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story has not been edited yet, and may contain unintended problematic elements and tropes.
> 
>  **Podfic:**  
>  **Chapters:** 20  
>  **Duration:** 9 hrs, 8 min  
>  **Size:** 502 MB (mp3), 260 MB (m4b)  
>  **Download:** [.zip file of mp3s @ Mediafire](http://www.mediafire.com/download/7hapdvoh478r6i8/A_Conspiracy_Of_Cartographers_Year_One.zip)  
> 

The first time Remus Lupin died, he was six years old. 

The sun was streaming through his window that morning, there was a warm, springy feeling in the air, and Remus woke up smiling. He had had the dream again -- the great, black dog who sometimes came to play with him while he slept, and kept him safe from nightmares. Those were always the best dreams. He wondered whether he should have asked his parents for a dog for his birthday, rather than a trip to the seaside. 

Mr and Mrs Lupin had promised to take their son out of school for the day if the weather was fine, and drive an hour and a half to the coast, just the four of them. Not that Remus didn't enjoy the company of other children, or that he didn't like getting presents he could unwrap, but he had always liked doing things more than having things, and sometimes, when no one else was around, his father would do magic. 

Marcellus Lupin was a wizard. He was a quiet, reserved man who saved his broad smiles mostly for his wife and children. During the week, he worked at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry of Magic. Remus had once been allowed to visit the Ministry with his father, and had stared, round-eyed, at the people in their colourful robes, and their casual use of magic. 

Remus's mother, Sylvia, was a Muggle. She told everyone her husband worked for the RSPCA, and frequently warned Remus and his almost-three-year-old sister Natalie not to mention magic or wizards in front of other people. They lived in a Muggle neighbourhood, and Remus attended the primary school up the road, where he was already beginning to show promise as a good student. 

Remus secretly hoped that he would be a wizard like his father one day, and he got a funny, excited feeling in his belly every time Marcellus mentioned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or the Ministry, but there had been no sign of magic in him yet. This did not bother Remus; growing up was still a long way off, and in the meantime, he had a family who loved him and plenty of friends to play with. He was a bright, mischievous boy, always inventing games that other children enjoyed playing, even if they sometimes got dirty or into trouble. At the end of a day of school or play, his parents would have supper on the table, and afterwards, his father would read to him, or his mother would sing, and then it would be time for sleep. 

On this particular bright March morning, Remus pulled on his clothes haphazardly and rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen where his parents were making breakfast. 

"There's my birthday boy!" said Marcellus with a grin. "Finally decided to join us, have you?" He ruffled his son's white-blond hair fondly. 

His mother scooped him into a one-armed hug, her other hand busy turning the eggs. "Happy birthday, Sweetheart." 

Remus gazed up at his father with large brown eyes. "Do some magic?" he begged. 

His father put on a comical thoughtful expression, and then reached for his wand from the sideboard. He flourished it at the toaster. Piping hot slices of golden-brown bread leapt into the air, did several backflips, and landed with a _plop_ on the plate set at Remus's place, where they began busily buttering themselves. Remus flashed a gap-toothed grin of delight, and his sister squealed her joy from her highchair at the end of the table. 

"When are we going?" Remus asked, stuffing toast into his mouth. He wondered whether eating magicked food would make him more likely to end up a wizard. 

"When you've finished your breakfast," his mother told him. " _Chew_ , Remus. If you choke to death, no one will be going to the seaside today." 

Remus swallowed and giggled, used to his mother's half-serious dire warnings about the consequences of everything. He made himself slow down, even though every second he couldn't feel sand between his toes was pure agony, and not to be borne. 

After breakfast, his mother bundled up Natalie -- it was not _that_ warm, she said -- and insisted that Remus put on a jumper and find his jacket, while his father loaded a picnic basket and blanket into the car. 

Sylvia drove and Marcellus sat half-turned in his seat, entertaining the children with a few chapters from _Five Children and It_ \-- already a favourite of Remus's -- and singing nursery rhymes which Remus was far too old to admit he still loved. He was especially fond of rhymes that mentioned magic or witches, ever since his father had told him that these had started out being sung for young wizards, and had only found their way into the Muggle world by accident. 

  
_"There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,_  
_Seventeen times as high as the moon;_  
_Where she was going I couldn't but ask it,_  
_For in her hand she carried a broom."_  


Natalie was asleep in her carseat by the time they arrived at the coast. There were no other cars besides their own in the carpark; it was too early in the season, and a weekday besides. Remus felt a tiny thrill at the thought of having the beach all to himself. The tide was a long way out, and the flat expanse of sand called to him like a siren song. Impatiently hopping from one foot to the other, he helped carry the blanket to a spot reasonably sheltered from the wind, while his mother wrangled his sister out of the car and his father handled the picnic basket. 

"Can I take my shoes off, Mum?" he asked the moment the blanket was spread out and his sister deposited on it. 

"Not yet," she told him. "It's too chilly, and I won't have my only son dying of pneumonia. Maybe after lunch." 

Remus sighed melodramatically. Lunch was _years_ away. 

His father stood up and smiled, reaching out a hand. "C'mon, birthday boy," he said. "Let's go exploring." 

He was really too old to be walking down the beach holding his father's hand, but since there was no one there to see, Remus didn't mind so much. He loved exploring with his father. Marcellus Lupin knew all kinds of magical secrets that were hidden from Muggle eyes, and they were bound to find something interesting. 

They strolled a ways down the sandy stretch to where rocks captured microcosms of life in their tidepools. Remus poked at anemones to make them close their petals, then waited for them to reopen so he could poke them again. Dipping a hand into the sun-warmed water, his father would point out this or that, giving Remus the names of everything. Remus drank in the knowledge along with his own sense of wonder at so many different kinds of life. 

"Oh, look at this!" said Marcellus, delighted, plucking a tiny, green creature from the depths of the pool and showing it to his son. "It's a vertoleon snail. Doesn't look like much, does it?" 

Remus shook his head, peering at the tiny snail. 

"Vertoleon slime," his father informed him, "is a key ingredient in a number of antidote potions. And the crushed shell can be used to strengthen restorative draughts." 

Marcellus gently returned the miniature gastropod to its home, and the two of them moved on to the next tidepool. By lunchtime, they had uncovered a Cassandra crab -- which an awed Remus was informed that, if eaten, would induce strange and often false visions of the future -- and a stone that his father said looked just like a fossilised Hinkypunk, though he might have been joking. 

By the time they returned to the blanket, Remus's mother had spread out a wealth of sandwiches, sliced fruit, cold meat pies, juice, crisps, and -- best of all -- chocolate cake. Remus begged her to let them start with the cake, but she shook her head, smiling, and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the other food, reminding him again to _chew_. 

It was too windy for candles on the beach, and when the time came at last for cake, Remus complained bitterly that if there were no candles to blow out, how could his wish ever come true? So his father put six "magical, invisible, wind-resistant candles" on the cake, and declared himself impressed when Remus managed to extinguish every one of them on the first try. 

The cake was delicious, though Remus thought it a terrible waste of icing when Natalie managed to smear quite a large handful of it into her hair. 

"It's s'posta go in your _mouth_ , Nat!" 

When Remus had finished his cake, he lay down on the blanket, feeling full and sleepy. His parents fell into talking about his father's work, which they often did during quiet moments, and the sound of their voices lulled him into sleep for a time. He was awakened by his mother's voice, suddenly sharp. 

"They should just lock them all up," she was saying. "Or make them wear some kind of sign so people will know what they are. Dangerous beasts shouldn't be allowed to just roam free." 

"It's not like that, Syl," Marcellus argued gently. "Most of them, most of the time, are just normal folk, trying to get by and live their lives. This new legislation -- all I'm really trying to do is convince Leach to make sure that they have access to safe, secure facilities, and that their whereabouts can be confirmed during full moons. It's for their own protection as much as anyone else's." 

Sylvia pursed her lips, unconvinced. "But that Greyback --" 

"He's half the reason why we need the new legislation," admitted Marcellus. "The man is out of control, even when he shouldn't be. But we can't prove he was responsible for those attacks. The only way to do that is to make sure all the others are registered and accounted for, and the only way we can do _that_ is with new legislation." 

Remus sat up and tugged at the laces of his trainers, bored by any discussion of his father's work which did not directly involve magic. Casting an imploring look at his mother and receiving an absent nod in response, he kicked off his shoes and socks and buried his toes in the warm, dry sand. The tide had turned and was beginning to come back in, and Remus felt a strong desire to put his feet in the water. 

Wading out until the tide washed and rushed over his skinny ankles, Remus looked down at the sand swirling around his toes. He saw small, darting fish in the water, and wondered what they were called. There were shells, too. He knew the names for some of them, and said them softly to himself as he picked them up. The ones he didn't know, he put into his pocket to ask his father about later. 

Turning, he began to wander down the beach. It was still deserted, and he knew that, so long as he could see his parents and they could see him and he didn't stray too deeply into the water, he could range as far as he pleased. 

_I'll find another Cassandra crab,_ he thought to himself, _and I'll eat it and find out if I'm going to be a wizard._

Better yet would be to find a Psammead, like the one in the book his father was reading to him. They were sand fairies, so why shouldn't one live on a beach like this? Once he caught it, he could make it grant his wishes. He could ask to be a wizard, then, and to have a wand to do spells with and a broom to ride on, and he would ask for a puppy, just like the black dog from his dreams. 

But there were no Cassandra crabs to be found, nor any sand fairies either. There was only the beach and the magic of his own imagination. 

Pockets bulging with shells, Remus sat down in the sand and began to build the sort of castle he imagined a Psammead would want to live in. Perhaps he could entice one of the elusive, grouchy creatures to come to him. He scooped the sand together with a large shell, raising precarious turrets, reinforcing with small sticks, and decorating with colourful shells, pebbles and beach glass. He was completely lost in his task when a shadow fell across him. 

"That's a nice castle," said a raspy voice above him. 

Remus looked up to see a man of about his father's age standing over him. He was taller than Marcellus, and broader through the shoulders, and he had long, greasy hair and sideburns. His clothes were odd, reminding Remus a little of the sorts of things he had seen worn on his visit to the Ministry. There was something about his smile that Remus did not like, but he didn't feel prepared to abandon the castle he had put so much work into. 

The man crouched down beside him. Remus could smell him. He liked his smell less than he liked his smile. 

"Do you like Fizzing Whizbees, boy?" 

Fizzing Whizbees were a magical sweet with which his father had surprised him once or twice. If this man had Fizzing Whizbees, he must be a wizard. As much as Remus loved the idea of magic, and had enjoyed the exhilarating feeling of floating around the room when his father had given him the sweets, he knew he was not supposed to take anything from strangers, and even if he hadn't known that, Remus didn't think he would have wanted to take anything that this man offered him. 

He stood abruptly and backed away. "I have to go," he said. 

The man also rose and shrugged. "Suit yourself, kid." 

Remus turned and walked away down the beach as quickly as he could, realising too late that he was still headed away from his parents. When he glanced back over his shoulder, he could see them still, a long way down the beach. The man had vanished. Remus's heart was pounding, though he wasn't sure why he should be scared. After all, nothing really scary had happened. 

To calm himself, he waded out into the cool water again, and took the shells out of his pocket to examine, discarding a few that were the same as another. The sun was beginning to set, and it was getting more and more difficult to distinguish between the shells. 

* * *

Natalie was just as bored by her parents' conversation as her brother had been, but her permitted range was much more limited. She had napped for as long as she could, and dug in the sand with a shell she had found, then fussed when her mother had prevented her from putting the shell in her mouth. But finally she had found something to distract her. 

"Pretty!" she said, pointing. 

The upper curve of the full moon could just be seen rising out of the sea, casting a long, silver path across the water in the dying daylight. 

Marcellus turned pale and looked at his wife. "Where's Remus?" 

* * *

Remus stood, water lapping at his knees, watching the moon rise. The glowing orb made him think of a shining silver Sickle, and he raised his hand, as if to pluck the coin out of the sky. He could hear his father calling his name from a long way off, but he wasn't quite ready to go home yet. 

And then he heard a sound much closer. A soft growl which raised the hairs on the back of his tender neck, and the splash of a foot and a foot and a foot and a foot in the water behind him. Very slowly, Remus turned around. 

The beast seemed almost to be made out of the same substance as the gathering darkness. Water poured from its huge paws as it stalked slowly towards him. 

"Padfoot?" he whispered in a high, scared voice. 

But the eyes were wrong. They were not the moonlight-pale eyes of the black dog that was his totem and his protector, but a savage yellow that sent a chill down his spine. 

He could hear his father shouting. As Remus whirled to run to him, the beast leapt. Remus screamed. A wave of power blazed out of him, bringing the snapping jaws up short for an instant, but it wasn't enough -- not nearly enough to save him. 

He did not dream about the black dog again for more than five years.

* * *

> **DAILY PROPHET**  
>  _11 March 1966_
> 
> **_Werewolf Attack Lands Young Wizard in Hospital_**  
>  _A child is in hospital following what is thought to have been a werewolf attack on Thursday evening in Suffolk. The boy's father used a Patronus charm to drive off the creature, before Apparating with his son to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The victim is expected to survive. It is not yet known whether he has been infected. The child's name has not been released, in consideration of his age._
> 
> _If confirmed, this would be the first recorded werewolf attack on a magical person on British soil since 1938. Werewolf attacks have been on the rise in Britain in recent years, but prior to Thursday's incident, only Muggles were affected. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is investigating the matter. The identity of the werewolf has not been confirmed._
> 
> _Residents of Suffolk and the surrounding counties are advised to take precautions to ensure their own safety and that of their families. They are discouraged from venturing out of doors after sunset during full moons until the responsible parties have been apprehended._
> 
> _The public are reminded that werewolves are extremely dangerous Dark creatures. A single tooth puncture may be enough to pass on infection, transforming the victim into a creature like itself. Werewolves cannot be reasoned with or tamed. If one has been sighted in your area, do not attempt to capture or eliminate the creature. Contact the proper authorities immediately._


	2. The Heir

PROLOGUE II  
THE HEIR

"Wake _up_!" 

Something heavy and squirmy bounced into the middle of Sirius Black's bed, forcing him out of a relatively peaceful slumber. Sirius opened one eye, then burrowed under the pillow. 

"Go 'way, Regs. 'M asleep." 

"Can't sleep!" his four-year-old brother Regulus declared. "It's your _birthday_!" 

Sirius groaned and went limp. Not that he didn't like birthdays. Not that he didn't enjoy getting large, shiny, expensive presents. Not that he didn't like being the centre of attention for a whole day. No, what made him feel like faking terminal illness was his mother's idea of what constituted a proper birthday celebration for the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. This year, she had decided, it should include _girls_. Most notably Sirius's three cousins, but also a number of other "presentable young ladies" -- all from good, pure-blood families -- who would be coming to the house for tea that afternoon. Sirius, at the now great age of six, had no use for girls whatsoever. They giggled and simpered and would probably want to play games involving _kissing_. He shuddered. 

Regulus had meanwhile grabbed him by the hand, and was now trying to extract him bodily from the bed, wrenching at his arm. Sirius vainly hoped that the arm might come off, thus providing him with an excuse to stay in his room today. Unfortunately, Regulus had other ideas. 

"Kreacher!" he called in a singsong voice. 

There was a sharp _crack_ , and the Black family house-elf stood in the centre of the room. He and Sirius eyed one another with mutual dislike. 

"What does the young Master wish?" croaked Kreacher, bowing deeply to Regulus. 

"Help me get Sirius outta bed?" the boy asked. "Please?" 

_You don't_ ask _house-elves,_ Sirius thought moodily. _You tell them._

But there was no point trying to make this argument with his younger brother. Regulus and Kreacher positively adored one another, and since the firm lessons in good manners given by their parents had taken deeper root in Regulus than in Sirius, asking nicely and saying "please" were second nature to him. 

"Anything the young Master wishes," said Kreacher. With a snap of his thin, knobbly fingers, the blankets ripped out of Sirius's grasp, stripping themselves from the bed. The curtains yanked themselves roughly apart, and blazing sunlight poured into the room. 

" _Oi!_ " Sirius roared. 

But he couldn't very well stay in bed without any blankets, so he reluctantly sat up, cursing the rudeness of house-elves under his breath with a few choice words his mother would have been shocked to discover he knew. The floor was chilly under his bare feet, despite it being the first day of summer, and Sirius shivered. Reaching for a pair of socks, he paused, a nasty grin spreading across his face. He bent down and picked up a wadded-up ball of fabric instead. 

"Hey, Kreacher! Catch!" he said, tossing it to the startled house-elf. 

Regulus was quick, though, and had seen Sirius try this sort of thing before. He didn't catch the crumpled shirt, but he did manage to knock it away before Kreacher could accidentally touch it. 

"That's not nice, Sirius," Regulus scolded, scowling as only a four-year-old can. "Kreacher doesn't want to be freed, and Mother would whip you if she found out." 

Sirius shrugged as if that were of no concern to him, and reached for his socks once more. He knew his brother would never rat on him. Regulus might be fond of the house-elf, but that was nothing compared to how much he loved, admired, and looked up to his older brother. 

Kreacher gave him a cold look and popped back out of sight as Sirius hopped awkwardly into his socks, shrugged on his dressing gown, and headed downstairs in Regulus's wake. Breakfast was waiting for them in the dining room, and their parents barely looked up from their conversation to say, " _Manners!_ " as the boys fell on the food like starving animals. 

Their father was gazing critically at a piece of parchment which Sirius recognised as the carefully-compiled guest list his mother had made for the day's dubious festivities. 

"Well, what about the Yaxley girl?" Orion Black said. "She's Sirius's age, and probably even pretty, but I don't see her name on here." 

Walburga Black had the world's thinnest lips, and when she pursed them, they disappeared altogether. "'Pretty' doesn't make up for the scandal over her father," she said. "There are plenty of other girls to choose from." 

Orion looked at the list again and grunted. "It would save us a lot of trouble if you could just talk your brother and Druella into pledging Narcissa to him." 

"You think I don't know that?" snapped Walburga. "I've told you. They think Narcissa is too old for Sirius. Why should they wait twelve years to marry her off when they can do it in six?" 

"Have they had any offers for her yet?" Orion asked. 

"No," Walburga sniffed. "They've pledged Bellatrix to the Lestrange boy, and Cygnus told me they're holding Andromeda in reserve in case the match between Abraxas Malfoy's son and the Prewett girl falls through. I've heard Molly Prewett's too saucy to make a proper wife or mother, so there's a better than even chance of it. Anyway, you know as well as I do why no one's offered for Narcissa yet." 

"The hair?" her husband smirked. 

"Blonde!" his wife declared. "And where did she get that, I ask you? Druella swears she's Cygnus's daughter, but I wouldn't put it past the woman to have found some way to alter the official record in her favour." 

As Walburga continued to expound upon the merits and deficiencies of the other dozen or so pure-blood girls on the list, and Orion grunted his responses, their sons largely ignored them. Sirius was busy making faces at his little brother across the table, trying to get milk to come out Regulus's nose, but he had not succeeded thus far. Regulus was trying hard to ignore Sirius, too, quietly singing nursery rhymes to himself under his breath. 

_"There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,_  
 _Seventeen times as high as the moon;  
Where she was going I couldn't but ask it,  
For in her hand she carried a broom."_

"You're too old for baby songs," snapped his mother, overhearing him. 

" _'Old woman, old woman, old woman,' quoth I,_ " Sirius picked up the rhyme, grinning at his brother and pointedly ignoring his parents' sour looks. He couldn't carry a tune, but he could do "loud" very well. " _'Where are you going to up so high?' 'To brush the cobwebs off the sky!'_ " 

" _'May I go with you?'_ " giggled Regulus. 

" _'Aye, by-and-by,'_ " finished Sirius, getting up from the table. 

The boys adjourned to the sitting room, Regulus first carefully delivering his plate to the kitchen, while Sirius left his on the table for Kreacher to take care of. When their banging and crashing and shrieking and giggling became too much, their parents appeared in the doorway, looking displeased. 

"What's going on in here?" their father glowered. 

Regulus lay on his back, arms and legs in the air, as Sirius crouched over him, hands curved into claws, growling. 

"We're playing werewolves," their younger son giggled. 

Walburga scowled, and Orion's face went red with fury. "I _will not_ have the heirs to the House of Black comporting themselves like mangy, half-breed monsters." His voice was dangerously quiet. "It's unseemly and I will not stand for it. You are _better_ than that." 

Regulus looked as if he were about to cry, and Sirius quickly leapt to his defence, fists clenched at his sides, jaw stubbornly set. 

"It's just a _game_ ," he said fiercely. 

His mother's hand flashed out and delivered him a ringing slap on the cheek. "Don't you take that tone with your father!" she hissed. "You will apologise _at once_!" 

Sirius's face blanched white. He bit his lip and swallowed hard, forcing down the sudden lump in his throat. _Blacks don't cry,_ he reminded himself savagely. It was not, after all, the first time one of his parents had struck him. 

"Forgive me, Father," he said evenly, nails biting into his palms. "I meant no disrespect." 

When his father gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment, Sirius turned away. "C'mon, Regs," he said, holding out a hand to his brother and pasting a grin he didn't feel on his face. "We can find a better game than this." 

Regulus's eyes flicked nervously to his parents, and he returned his brother's smile tremulously, taking the offered hand and getting to his feet. When Sirius crossed his eyes and mouthed, _ghouls_ , so his parents couldn't see, the younger boy relaxed slightly. 

" _Aroooo,_ " Sirius howled softly under his breath as they left the room, mentally adding "werewolves" to his growing list of Things Which Annoyed His Parents. 

* * *

Guests began arriving shortly after noon, and Sirius's parents required his presence to greet them at the door. 

The first to arrive was Sirius's best friend, if such a term could be used to describe Peter Pettigrew. The truth was that most of Sirius's "friends" were hand-picked by his parents, with more consideration given to their social and familial connections than to their personalities. Peter was more like Sirius's number one fan, not including Regulus, which was not really the same thing as a friend, but still put him head and shoulders above the rest of Sirius's acquaintances, many of whom he could barely stand. 

The Pettigrew family were not quite so ancient as the Blacks, and they were comparatively poor. Peter's mother, Almira, provided their main support while also caring for her young son, her husband having died a few years before, when a complicated spell of some sort had backfired. Peter knew enough to be grateful for the friendship of the more privileged boy. He laughed at all of Sirius's jokes, and went along with whatever he wanted to do. 

"Hi," Peter said as his mother greeted Walburga. "Who's here?" 

"No one yet," Sirius told him sullenly, "but Mother's invited a bunch of _girls_." 

Peter shrugged, apparently seeing no problem with this arrangement. He handed Sirius a small but glitteringly-wrapped present. "When's cake?" he asked. 

Sirius's cousins, Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa, arrived soon after. Not only were they girls; they were almost _ladies_ , they were so old. Bellatrix was fifteen, beginning to be pretty, and played at being prim and stuck up so well that the sly hexes she cast when people's backs were turned were almost always blamed on someone else. Eleven-year-old Narcissa was Bellatrix's blonde shadow, doing all she could to mimic the almost-regal poise of her eldest sister. Andromeda, the middle sister, often took the blame for Bellatrix's hexes. At thirteen, she was a bit of a tomboy. She looked awkward and uncomfortable in the dress robes her parents had no doubt insisted that she wear for the occasion, but she was the only one of the three sisters to smile at her young cousins and wish Sirius a happy birthday. Sirius thought she was all right, for a girl. 

Andromeda and Peter weren't the only welcome faces. Sirius's favourite uncle, his mother's brother Alphard, showed up with hugs, gifts, and a rather handsome man whom he introduced to his nephews as his associate, Amadeus Saint John. 

Before long, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was overrun with almost two dozen children -- most of them girls much closer to Sirius's age than his cousins -- as well as various aunts, uncles, grandparents and family friends, all requiring formal and respectful greetings from the increasingly bored and petulant birthday boy. At last, Sirius and his unwelcome entourage were permitted to escape upstairs, where they could at least make more noise away from the watchful eyes of the adults. 

It was worse than Sirius had expected. The girls _did_ want to play kissing games. Doris Purkiss, a very forwards five-year-old, was the first to suggest a game of Spin the Wand, glancing eagerly between Sirius and a seven-year-old boy named Belisarius Boardman, who went by the unlikely nickname of "Stubby". The suggestion was quickly taken up by Venice Corbet and her best friend, Elswith More, and by the Hathersage sisters, Cecilia and Matilda. Sirius felt deeply betrayed when even normally-timid Peter and Stubby's best friend Dorian Gaveston sold out on their gender and claimed to be up for the game. 

Andromeda and Narcissa, on the other hand, declared themselves too old to play kissing games with "little kids", but Bellatrix, with a sly grin, plopped herself down in the circle and offered her own wand to spin. The thought of having to kiss his older cousin frankly terrified Sirius -- he had a strong suspicion that she would make it as humiliating an experience as possible -- but he knew better than to show it. Fear was weakness, he had been told time and again, and should be just as foreign a concept to a man of the Black family as tears. It was better to laugh than to appear weak. 

A few of the boys rolled their eyes and said they were going to go play Exploding Snap if all Sirius could offer was girly entertainment. Sirius looked longingly after them, but he knew Regulus was still a little afraid of the loud noises involved in the card game, and he wasn't about to abandon his brother to what passed for feminine mercy. 

Most of the other children were looking at him, instinctively waiting for him to decide what he wanted to do. He was the heir to the House of Black, after all -- one of the oldest, wealthiest, purest families in Wizarding Britain -- and they had been trained almost from birth to follow his lead. Sirius, for his part, had learned to accept such deference as his due, regally acknowledging the adulation of his subordinates. Grinning and shrugging as if he didn't care one way or the other, he sank to the floor between Regulus and Peter. 

The problem with Spin the Wand, as opposed to spinning some other, non-magical item, was that the wand knew who the spinner wanted it to point at, as well as who absolutely did not want to be pointed at, and it turned out that Bellatrix's wand was as perverse as she was. By the time the children were called back downstairs for tea, Sirius had been forced to suffer wet, soppy kisses from nearly every girl in the room, as well as a rather horrifying one from Bellatrix herself, who had actually tried to stick her tongue in his mouth. He was only thankful that the girls seemed to be ignoring Regulus. 

Sirius was almost glad to rejoin the throng of watchful and disapproving adults in the back garden. At least there were enough eyes on him there that he didn't have to worry too much about turning his back on his eldest cousin. 

The garden had been been decorated by Kreacher under Walburga's critical eye. Garlands and bunting hung from the trees and walls, long tables had been laid out with fancy cloths and piled high with food of every imaginable sort, and there was an enormous cake emblazoned with the Black family crest and motto. His mother had seen to it that a few of his own favourite foods were included, for which Sirius was grateful, but he knew the generous abundance had more to do with impressing the guests than with him. Sirius loaded up his plate and went to sit with Peter, Regulus, and a few of the other boys. 

"The cake looks brilliant," Peter said. "What kind is it?" 

"Knowing Kreacher, probably 'poison'," scowled Sirius. He had just noticed that, somehow, without appearing to be burnt, his favourite sausage rolls _tasted_ burnt. "Kreacher!" 

The house-elf appeared with a _crack_ and stared at Sirius sullenly. 

"You burnt my sausage rolls," Sirius informed him. "Go slam your head in the door." 

A few of the other boys giggled, and Peter snorted, but as the house-elf turned away, grumbling, Regulus jumped out of his seat. 

"Stop it, Sirius!" he said. "Kreacher, you don't have to. I forbid it." 

Technically, when a house-elf was given contradictory orders, it was supposed to obey the higher authority, which should have been Sirius, but Kreacher had a bad habit of picking and choosing in situations where he knew Sirius's parents would side with Regulus rather than their older son. 

"As the young Master wishes," he said with a bow to the younger boy. He vanished quickly before Sirius could order him to do anything else. 

"You'd think they were in love," Sirius said to his sniggering audience, sneering at his brother. "He's too thick to understand what servants are for. Hey, Regs! Why don't you go see if Kreacher wants to play Spin the Wand with you?" 

Regulus blushed furiously and fled, probably to go cling to their mother's skirts for the rest of the afternoon. The other boys laughed. 

"Sirius!" called a voice a few tables away. "Can I have a word with the birthday boy?" 

Obediently, Sirius hopped down from his chair and went to where his Uncle Alphard was sitting with his associate. Alphard put a hand on his nephew's shoulder, drawing him in close. 

"I heard what you said, Sirius," he told the boy, quietly enough that they wouldn't be overheard. "That was not well done. A man should defend those who cannot defend themselves. And a brother even more so." 

His uncle's tone was gentle, and he softened the words with a smile, but Sirius hung his head in shame. He liked his mother's brother, and wanted Alphard to think well of him. 

"Sorry, Uncle," he mumbled. 

"Don't apologise to me," Alphard said kindly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Your brother's the one who needs to hear it. You're a good boy when you remember to be, Sirius. Now, I think they're going to be toasting you in just a minute. Why don't you go see if your father will let you have a sip of wine?" 

Sirius flashed his uncle a grin and fled to the drinks table, where his father was overseeing the pouring of glasses of dark red wine. 

"Father," he said as winningly as he knew how. "May I please?" 

Orion considered his young son for a moment, then shrugged and handed Sirius a glass containing a much smaller measure of wine than the rest. Accepting it eagerly, Sirius tilted the glass to his lips, holding it between both hands. It tasted strange and sweet and rich on his tongue. 

"Save some for the toast," his father admonished, not unkindly. 

Fortunately, he didn't have long to wait. Soon everyone had finished eating. Kreacher cleared away the empty plates, and began handing out wine glasses to the adults, and to any of the children whose parents gave them permission to partake in the toast. 

Orion Black raised his own glass and declared in a carrying voice, "To my son, Sirius Orion Black, the pride and promise of our House. May he ever be mindful of his duty, and safeguard the sanctity of his blood and ours for generations to come. _Toujours Pur!_ " 

" _Toujours Pur!_ " cried every voice. 

Sirius drained his glass. He looked around to grin his appreciation to his uncle, but Alphard and his associate were nowhere to be seen. With a shrug, Sirius returned to the drinks table to see if he could wheedle a little more wine out of his father, but all that stood on the table now were empty bottles. 

"Your mother's just going to the pantry to fetch some more," his father told him with a nod towards his wife, who was disappearing into the house, Regulus trailing despondently along behind her. 

His brother was still clearly upset about the scene with Kreacher, and Sirius's conscience twinged. When one came right down to it, Regulus was his best friend, besides being his own blood. His Uncle Alphard was right; Sirius should apologise. Maybe he should do it now, away from all the guests. 

And that was how Sirius happened to be closer than most when he heard his mother's shriek. 

He had barely stepped through the back door into the kitchen when Walburga cried, " _Alphard! What in the name of all that is pure and powerful --?_ " 

She was standing at the entrance to the pantry, eyes wide, face white with shock, Regulus peering around her skirt. A moment later, Alphard and his associate came stumbling out of the pantry, blushing furiously. Sirius was aware of a sudden crush of people in the doorway behind him, summoned by his mother's cry. 

Walburga's wits did not desert her for long. 

" _Filth!_ " she shrieked, flying at the two men, raining them with blows. " _Blood-traitor! You are disgusting! How dare you do such a thing in my house?! Get out at once, and take your nasty, Mudblood trollop with you!_ " 

Sirius did not understand. What could his uncle have been doing in the pantry to so enrage his mother? Had they drunk all the wine? They couldn't have been in there long enough. 

Alphard and his associate did not argue, but hurriedly grabbed their cloaks from the rack by the door, and departed. Just before the door closed behind them, Alphard's eye caught Sirius's. Astoundingly, he smiled, and threw his nephew a wink. And then he was gone. 

Of course everyone who had been in the garden wanted to know what had happened. They pestered the boys, but Sirius and Regulus only shook their heads, not having understood any of the incident themselves. Sirius's parents cast one another grim, meaningful looks, but said very little. Gossip and scandal were among the worst things that could happen to a family's good name. Walburga, tightlipped, informed the guests that she had caught her brother trying to steal certain Black family heirlooms, but Sirius knew this could not be true. What heirlooms did they keep in the pantry? 

Regulus was frightened by the incident, and Sirius was confused and hurt by the hasty departure of his favourite uncle. 

"D'you think we'll ever see him again?" Regulus asked tremulously. He had returned to his brother's side, terrified by their mother's fit of rage, and had been sticking to Sirius like a small burr ever since. 

"Dunno," Sirius said glumly. "Regs, I'm sorry about what I said before." 

"S'OK," Regulus told him. 

But Sirius didn't feel like anything was OK just then. 

* * *

The party had broken up not long after Alphard's hasty exodus, the guests barely staying for the cake. Alphard's departure had broken the festive mood, but Sirius had heard his mother whisper bitterly to his father that they all wanted to get a head start on the gossip. 

"Do you think they know?" his father asked. 

"No, they don't _know_ ," she replied. "But they can guess." 

Sirius could not guess, though. That night, he lay awake and bewildered in his bed, wondering what could possibly have happened. 

When the house grew quiet, Sirius heard his door creak open. He had been expecting it. 

"Bad dreams?" he asked. 

"No," Regulus replied. "Is it OK if I sleep with you?" 

"Yeah." 

Sirius shifted over so that Regulus could crawl up onto the bed beside him. He would never admit it, but he loved it when his brother came to him for comfort. There were plenty of times like tonight when Sirius felt sad or lost or scared or confused, and he never knew what to do about it for himself. But when Regulus needed him, he could forget about his own worries, and feel like he was doing something good to keep both of their troubles at bay. 

"Mother was so angry," Regulus said in soft wonder, cuddling close to his brother. 

"Yeah," said Sirius. "I just don't get it." 

"Me either," admitted his brother. There was a long silence, and then he added, "They weren't stealing anything, either." 

"Did you see what they were doing?" Sirius asked. 

"Yeah," said Regulus. "They were _kissing_." 

"Why would they do that?" It didn't make any sense. Why would two men kiss each other? Girls were the ones who liked kissing. Regulus must have seen it wrong.


	3. The Unexpected Letter

Remus's father was carrying him. He could feel the wool of the old blanket rubbing against the rawness of new bites and scratches, but everything else hurt so much that it hardly seemed to matter. He was too weak even to grit his teeth against the bone-deep pain. Instead, he counted the seconds silently, the flowing numbers a talisman to ward off the tears until he was alone. 

_26 ... 27 ... 28 ... 29 ...._

His father laid him on his bed, and his mother turned back the blanket to apply expensive soothing ointment to his new wounds. Remus didn't bother to open his eyes. 

_43 ... 44 ... 45 ... 46 ...._

At least his mother didn't gasp and tsk at the damage he did to himself anymore. Or if she did, it was only after the bad nights, and Remus was rarely conscious on those occasions to notice. Last night hadn't been one of the bad ones, but there weren't any good ones, either. 

_109 ... 110 ... 111 ... 112 ...._

The blankets came up over him, and his mother's hand gently stroked his hair. "Get some rest, Sweetheart," she said softly. "It's all right now." 

But it wasn't all right. It would never be all right again. 

The door closed, and Remus began to weep silently into his pillow. Finally, worn out by tears and pain and misery, he slept. 

* * *

It had been five years since the attack, and the best that could be said was that Remus only occasionally longed for death anymore. Not that he would have done anything to harm himself, but he sometimes wished that his father had not been quite so quick to come to his rescue that day. If the wolf had killed him, his own suffering would have been over in moments, and although his family would have been devastated, eventually they would have found the strength and courage to get on with their lives. But as things stood, none of them could ever move on. They were trapped forever in the cyclical hell of his condition. 

The first few years had been the worst. The attack itself had only been the first and most traumatic in a series of disruptions in the lives of the Lupin family. 

Remus had spent more than a week at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries while his body did its best to recover physically from the attack. For days, he was in shock, staring at the healers and his parents alike with round, uncomprehending brown eyes, too traumatised even for tears. Then the shock had begun to recede, and Remus had started noticing things again. 

The first thing he had noticed was the way everyone treated him. The healers talked to his parents and to one another over his bed, but they rarely spoke to him or met his eyes. Even when they examined his wounds, they seemed reluctant to touch him. He longed for the comfort of his parents' arms, but even they seemed to hesitate before reaching out to him. 

During his time at St Mungo's Remus had learned many new words. Normally, Remus loved words, but not these. "Werewolf" he had already known, but not exactly what it meant. His tongue stumbled clumsily over "lycanthropy" the first few times he tried it. Then there was "lunar cycle". Full moons were no longer pretty, but were now the central focus of Remus's young life. "Isolation" would be required on those nights, but no one mentioned that it would soon describe every aspect of his life. The last word he learned was "rape" -- the bitter word his mother used to describe the attack. When his father had told her not to exaggerate, she had flashed him an angry look and asked sharply how what had happened to their son had been any different. 

By the time he had been allowed to go home, Remus had missed almost two weeks of school. His parents had told him he could take more time if he needed it, but Remus had wanted to go. Somehow, he had convinced himself that by returning to the routines of his former life, he could make everything go back to normal. 

It hadn't taken him long to realise how wrong he had been. The other children were curious what had kept him out of school for so long, but seemed satisfied with the answer that he'd been ill. He certainly looked it. His teacher had been less easy to convince. How ill? she had wanted to know, and with what? But Remus had been firmly and grimly informed by his parents that he must never tell anyone what had happened to him, unless they needed to know for official reasons, so Remus just kept his head down and his mouth shut. 

His marks had begun to suffer, due to a lack of participation in the classroom, though he had soon made up all the assignments he had missed. His friends sensed the change in Remus, and since they were unable to understand it, and he was unable to explain it to them, they had slowly begun to withdraw their friendship. 

Remus was lonely and miserable. As the date of the April full moon had approached, his misery had translated itself into irritability, and he had begun to lash out, getting into several fights, mostly with his former friends. His parents had been understanding but firm. His emotions would be affected by the waxing and waning of the moon, they told him, and he must learn to be in control of them at all times, for his own sake as well as for others. Control would become his watchword. 

The afternoon before the April moon, his tightlipped parents had left Natalie with a neighbour, and taken the Floo Network to the Ministry of Magic. That was the day the shine of the magical world had truly worn off for Remus. His wonder crumbled as soon as they were forced again and again to explain the reason for their visit to each Ministry official they encountered. Friendly smiles were instantly replaced by sneers, suspicion, and stoney looks. 

They had made their way to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where a special holding cell had been reserved for Remus for the night. Remus's mother had been made to wait outside, and his father had only been allowed in because he was an employee of the department. A gruff wizard who barely glanced at Remus had told him to undress. Remus had looked to his father, and received only a quick nod in return. Reluctantly, he had obeyed. 

A heavy iron door had been opened, "I'll be here the whole time, Sweetheart," his father had said, trying to smile reassuringly, and Remus had walked through it, naked and shivering, to be left with an unceremonious _clang_ in utter darkness. 

What had happened next was the worst thing that had ever happened to Remus. 

The next thing he could remember was waking up, still in cold and darkness and fear, every bone and muscle and inch of skin blazing with pain. He had been too weak to stand, or even to cry for help, so he had simply lain there, curled in a tight ball on the cold stone floor, whimpering and weeping for an hour or more. Finally, the door had opened, and his father and a healer had been allowed in to tend to his wounds before his parents carried him home. 

Marcellus and Sylvia had been very quiet and subdued that day, and it was only later that Remus had learned that his father had lost his job. There was a law, it transpired, that anyone having a close personal association with a known Dark Creature was prohibited from working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, due to conflict of interests. Marcellus had tried to get a transfer to another department, but magical creatures were all he knew. Remus's parents told him it wasn't his fault, but it still felt like it was. 

The situation at Remus's school continued to deteriorate. He was withdrawn and irritable by turns. The other children largely avoided him, and his teacher grew increasingly impatient with his vaguely-excused absences and behavioural problems. Remus had held on as best he could through the remainder of the school year, and greeted the arrival of the summer holidays with a relative sigh of relief. 

Marcellus had still not found work by the end of the school year, and the neighbours were asking too many uncomfortable questions about the Lupin family's sudden secretiveness. They decided to move. 

Their second home had been a small, anonymous, dingy flat in a rundown suburb of London. It had been easier to transport Remus to the Ministry from there for full moons, since they could no longer afford Floo powder. Marcellus had soon found a low-paying reception job at a Muggle veterinary clinic, and Sylvia stayed home to care for Remus and Natalie, and see to their education. They had remained there for a year and two further job changes, always keeping to themselves, and trusting no one. 

Two moves and countless low-paying Muggle jobs later, when Remus was almost ten, they had finally settled in a small, ramshackle cottage in the countryside. It was miles from anything else, off the main road, and surrounded by farmland. But its best feature was the cellar. It had taken only a little work to bring it up to Ministry specifications, and Remus had at long last been spared the monthly humiliation of suffering his transformations under cold, official eyes. 

His parents would be there the moment dawn broke, often before he even regained consciousness, carrying him to his bed and seeing to his hurts. Remus knew they never slept on full moon nights anymore than he did. Even if his howls and crashes hadn't kept them awake, his mother and father could never sleep while one of their children was suffering. They never complained, and he was grateful for their care, but he still felt empty inside. 

Remus had tried to fill the emptiness with books and music, both of which he loved. He could lose himself in them, and forget for a while that he was a werewolf -- that he was alone. Fortunately, the Lupins owned a great many books. Their collection had stayed with them through all their moves, Marcellus and Sylvia feeling, as their son did, that books were too precious ever to get rid of or leave behind. They took the place of the friends Remus lacked. Whenever he was lonely, he could go back again and again to visit beloved characters, or relive a favourite scene. 

Music was less readily available. The family owned an old turntable and a small collection of vinyl LPs, all of which Remus knew by heart, and they had a radio, which, on good days, could pick up as many as three stations, albeit somewhat fuzzily. 

Sometimes Marcellus would take out his wand and tune in to the Wizarding Wireless Network, but it was the only connection they had to the magical world any longer. Natalie, now eight years old, had shown no sign of magical ability yet, and while eleven-year-old Remus had, it was unlikely that he would ever be permitted to integrate into Wizarding society. 

* * *

When Remus awoke in the mid afternoon, he could smell the rain. He opened his eyes to see his sister lying on her front on the bed beside him, nose buried in _The Wind in the Willows_ , blonde hair hanging in a curtain around her face. 

"Hey, Sleepyhead," she greeted him. She nodded towards a gently-steaming mug on his nightstand. "There's tea if you want it." 

He groaned and sat up, pushing honey-brown hair out of his eyes. His head still ached, and the room spun disconcertingly, but the tea was a special soothing blend, and it helped immensely. 

"How long've you been here?" he asked. 

Natalie shrugged. "Since dawn, except for breakfast." 

It was her usual habit on the mornings following full moons. Ever since she was small, she had crept into his room as soon as his parents went to their own bed, and curled up beside him. She never poked or wriggled or tried to talk to him. Her presence was a quiet comfort, and he welcomed it. He knew his transformations gave her nightmares, especially since he had started having them in the house, and he was extremely thankful that she was not afraid of him, since she was the only friend he was ever likely to have. 

"You getting up?" she asked. 

"Maybe." He looked down at the long, red scratches visible on his thin chest, sticky with ointment. "I need a shower." 

"Bath," she told him firmly. "You'll pass out if you try to stand up for too long." 

He gave her a weak smile. "Bath, then." 

Remus appreciated how matter-of-factly his sister treated his condition. After all, of the four of them, she could not remember what it had been like, before. She had grown up in the role of helper to her parents and protector of her older brother. If she was as lonely as Remus was, she never showed it. 

She slid off the bed, bare feet thumping on the floor. "I'll run the water for you," she volunteered, departing. 

When she had gone, Remus pushed back the covers and stood up, swaying. The rain made it chilly in the room, even though it was July, but he did not immediately reach for his dressing gown. He needed to take stock first. For years, he had done his best to hide from his condition, and avoid looking at his own scarred body, but eventually he had been forced to face facts, and it had become his post-full-moon ritual to take a moment to assess the damage before he dressed. 

_Not too bad,_ he thought critically, viewing the scratches on chest, arms and legs in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. His eyes lingered, as always, on the twisted wedge of scar tissue at the top of his right thigh. The wolf's bite. He turned and craned his neck over his shoulder to check his back. The wolf's claws couldn't reach there as easily, but there were frequently one or two self-inflicted bite marks. That morning was no exception. He winced, fingering a deep puncture over his ribs. That one would definitely leave a scar. 

Sighing, he reached for his dressing gown, hoping that a bath would make him feel human again. 

* * *

Remus and Natalie were sitting on the sofa, reading together in silent companionship, when the doorbell rang. Wide, brown eyes met over the tops of their books. In the year and a half since they had moved to the cottage, their only visitor had been the Ministry inspector who had come to check the alterations to their cellar. 

Natalie set down her book and cautiously approached the front door, opening it barely a crack to peek out. 

"Good afternoon, young lady," said a pleasant voice from the other side. "Are your parents at home?" 

Marcellus and Sylvia Lupin appeared, summoned by the doorbell. 

"Who is it, Sweetie?" asked her mother. 

Reluctantly, Natalie opened the door wide enough to reveal a tall man in long, purple robes edged in gold, carrying a matching umbrella. He had a white beard which fell almost to his waist, and the bluest eyes Remus had ever seen. 

His father blinked in surprise. "Professor! Er -- won't you come in, Sir?" 

"If this charming young lady will allow me?" the man said with a smile, eyes twinkling. "What is your name, my dear? 

"Natalie," she whispered shyly. 

"A pleasure to meet you, Natalie. Do you mind if I come in for a moment?" 

She shook her head and stepped back to allow him entry. His eyes swept the room, and caught Remus peering at him over the back of the sofa. Remus could have sworn he _winked_. 

"Marcellus." The man shook his father's hand warmly. "It's been too long. Might I have the honour of being introduced to your lovely wife?" 

Remus's father's bewildered eyes never left the man's face. He cleared his throat. "Dear, this is Albus Dumbledore. He was one of my professors at school. Professor Dumbledore, my wife, Sylvia." 

"A pleasure, Madam." He bowed and kissed her hand. "I now have the honour of being headmaster at that fine institution of learning. But there's someone I haven't met yet." 

"Ah," said Marcellus, looking suddenly anxious. "Of course." He gestured towards the sofa. "My son, Remus." 

The elderly professor stepped around the sofa and smiled at Remus, holding out his hand. 

_He wouldn't if he knew,_ Remus thought glumly, shaking the proffered hand. 

"Professor," Marcellus said hesitantly, "might I ask why --?" 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over his half-moon spectacles. "I happened to have some mail for young Remus that I thought it best to deliver in person." 

" _Oh,_ " said his father, eyes widening as Dumbledore removed a creamy envelope from his robes. "But --" 

Remus stared at the envelope, puzzled. No one had ever written him a letter before, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would now. It had his name and his family's address written neatly on one side in dark green ink, and on the other was a large blob of purple wax, stamped with an "H". 

"Hogwarts, lad," Dumbledore told him, still smiling. 

His mother gasped. Remus felt something leap in his chest, and immediately squashed it. He didn't even have to look at his parents; he already knew the answer. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, handing the envelope back. "I can't." 

"Even a werewolf deserves a proper education," Dumbledore said softly. 

Remus's eyes snapped up to meet those twinkling blue ones. He couldn't breathe. The man _knew_. He knew, and he was still here, offering Remus something he hadn't dared to want or think about since that horrible day. He was so stunned that he barely noticed Natalie climbing up onto the sofa beside him and silently squeezing his hand. 

"Can I?" he breathed, turning towards his parents. 

"No," said his mother angrily. "Absolutely not." 

"I'm sorry, son." His father's voice was gentler. He laid a hand on Remus's shoulder. "I just don't see how it can be done." 

Dumbledore glanced from Remus's mother to his father, face utterly calm. "You must realise, Marcellus," he said, "that an untrained wizard is no less dangerous than a werewolf. Can you teach him the control he needs? Until he learns it, he will be a danger to himself and to you all." 

_Control._ That word again. Remus knew it well. He had learned over the years to control his emotions, hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a blank mask or an unmeant smile. But his magic was another matter. His parents knew as well as he did that sometimes, when he was especially angry or sad, things happened. 

"The other parents will never allow their children to go to school with a werewolf," Marcellus argued. 

Dumbledore's smile never wavered. "I think we can contrive to keep his condition a private matter." 

His mother's jaw was still tight. "Who would take care of him? You, Professor?" 

"I have already spoken with Madam Pomfrey, our new school matron, about Remus's special circumstances," Dumbledore assured her. "She is on board and ready to provide for his needs." 

"But the Ministry --" began Marcellus. 

"Mehitabel Fox is an old friend," said Dumbledore, naming the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. "I have met with her, and with Aloysius Borage as well. I've given them personal assurances that I will be on top of the situation, and I have managed to persuade them that, with proper precautions, there is no reason why Remus should not be allowed to participate fully in the education to which he is entitled by right of his abilities." 

Remus knew Aloysius Borage was the Minister for Magic, and he felt awed that this man he had never met before had gone to such great lengths on his behalf. 

"Should you decide to send Remus to us, arrangements will be made to create a safe place for him to spend the full moons," Dumbledore continued. "His own well-being and the safety of the staff and student body of Hogwarts have been taken into consideration." 

"It's kind of you to offer," Marcellus said, flushing slightly, "but we can't afford it." 

"There are funds to cover tuition fees for families who feel them a financial strain," Dumbledore assured him. "I will see to it personally that they are made available to you." 

Remus looked from his father to his mother, not yet daring to hope. It all seemed far too good to be true. His mother's lips were pressed stubbornly together, but his father's face bore a thoughtful expression. Natalie, beside him, squeezed his hand harder than ever, and he squeezed back this time, sweaty palms pressing together. 

"I don't like it," Sylvia said. "I don't think it will work." 

Marcellus laid a hand on his wife's arm. "Syl," he said gently, "you know I worry about Remus as much as you do. But I trust Dumbledore. If he thinks it can be done, I think maybe it's worth considering. What do you think, son?" 

Remus was so startled to be consulted for his opinion on the matter that he didn't speak for a moment, just stared up at his father. 

"I want to go," he said at last. "I want to learn." 

* * *

If his experiences at the Ministry of Magic had destroyed his sense of wonder at the Wizarding world, Diagon Alley went a long way towards restoring it. Amazing as the Ministry magic had been, it had been a businesslike kind of magic. In Diagon Alley, people enjoyed themselves. They smiled and talked and laughed, and a few even nodded greetings to the awed young boy, trailing along behind his father. 

_They wouldn't smile if they knew,_ Remus reminded himself. But the difference was that, here, he didn't have to tell them. Here, he could be just another young wizard preparing to embark upon his education, and forget his dark secret, if only for a few hours. That is, he thought he could until they went to Gringotts. 

For five years, the Lupin family had dealt almost exclusively in Muggle currency, using wizard money only occasionally to buy the special healing potions and soothing tea Remus required. His father did not even have an account with the Wizarding bank any longer. They went today only to exchange what little money they could afford for wizard gold. Outside the bank afterwards, Marcellus turned, smiling, to hand the small bag to his son. Then he hesitated. 

"Some of the coins are silver," he warned. "Be careful." 

Silver had been the first thing to go from the Lupins' house after the attack, once it was discovered that the slightest touch caused Remus's tender skin to burn and blister. The family silver had been sold, and much of his mother's jewelry. A few fancy clasps had been ruthlessly torn from old books, and his father's prized chess set had been put away to gather dust. 

Remus took the bag gingerly. "I could wear gloves," he said reluctantly. It would mark him as different, but he was beginning to realise there was no help for that. 

"You could," said his father, smiling lopsidedly. "We'll keep an eye out for some." 

They went to Ollivander's first. Everything else on the list included with Remus's Hogwarts letter could be picked up secondhand, but the wand would be new, and would be the most expensive purchase of the day. It was also the one item Remus longed for most in all the world. He couldn't be a real wizard without one. 

Ollivander turned out to be an eccentric man who poked and prodded and measured, handing Remus wand after wand, then shaking his head and laying them aside. Remus got the feeling that the wand merchant knew there was something odd about him, but he didn't ask, nor did he seem terribly concerned about what it might be, except insofar as it affected his trade. 

"Here's the one," he said at last, drawing yet another long, thin box down from a high shelf. He removed the wand with a flourish, and handed it to Remus. 

Remus felt a faint vibration as he clutched the wand, and a warm glow began to spread through his hand and down his arm, until it suffused his entire body. 

Ollivander clapped with delight. "A perfect fit! I knew it! Dragon heartstring, willow, ten and a quarter inches, and reasonably flexible. An excellent combination." 

Remus dumped out the money on the counter. The cost of the wand was almost half of what he had, but he was so pleased that he didn't care. He was startled, though, when Ollivander offered to help him return the rest of the money to the pouch, deftly plucking up the silver coins and dropping them in, one by one. Remus's change was given to him in copper Knuts. 

"How'd he know?" Remus asked worriedly when they left the shop. 

His father shook his head. "Intuition. It's one of the reasons he's the best at what he does." 

"D'you think other people will guess?" 

Marcellus gave his son's shoulder a squeeze. "It's possible. Just be careful, all right, son?" 

Remus was surprised when the next place they turned into was Eeylop's Owl Emporium. 

"Do I get an owl, Dad?" he asked, excited. 

His father smiled at him fondly. "No, son. We do. Your mother and I decided it would be a good idea so that we can keep in touch with you and Dumbledore." 

Remus was only slightly disappointed. A family owl was almost as good as having his own. Who else would he write to? Unfortunately, the owls did not seem to like him much. When he peered into their cages, they glared at him suspiciously, and sidled away on their perches. 

_Even animals don't like me,_ he thought glumly. 

The barn owl his father ended up purchasing was decidedly elderly. "Veteran", the woman behind the counter described him, and that became his name. Veteran didn't seem to mind Remus quite so much as the younger owls did. He gave Remus the distinct impression that he'd seen far too much in life to be troubled by juvenile werewolves. 

Marcellus bought his son ice cream at Florian Fortescue's to cheer him up after they purchased his school robes. The only ones they had been able to afford were patched and frayed, worn thin in a number of places, and the clasp on his winter cloak was cheap pewter, not the silver recommended on the list. 

"My son has an allergy," his father had told Madam Malkin, the witch who ran the shop. 

Her lips had gone very thin at that, and her one-sided chatter had dried up. An "allergy" to silver meant only one thing, and she clearly knew it. 

Remus poked moodily at his raspberry-cinnamon sundae, and wondered if he was fooling himself, thinking that he would be able to pass for "normal" at school. 

"All right, son?" his father asked. 

Remus slumped back in his seat. "What if I can't do it, Dad?" 

His father shrugged. "Then at least you'll have tried. The worst that can happen is you'll have to come home again." 

"What if it's horrible?" Remus asked miserably. "What if everyone hates me?" 

Marcellus leaned across the table and covered his son's hand with his own, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You're strong, Remus," he said earnestly. "You've had to be. I know you can do this. And I have faith in Dumbledore. You don't know him yet, but I do. If he's on your side, anything is possible." 

Remus did not have the confidence in himself that his father did, but neither could he disappoint the man who had showed him such love and support during the last five difficult years. He nodded. 

"That's the spirit!" his father said, smiling. He stood up. "C'mon. I've been saving the best for last. You'll love Flourish and Blotts. We'll pick you up a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_." 

* * *

Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair and regarded the Hat on his desk ambivalently. It was very old -- patched and worn in several places -- and rather filthy besides. It was also one of the great symbols of the school: the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. Dumbledore had mixed feelings about the Hat, and about the founders' wisdom in believing that students should be classified based upon the personality traits they exhibited at the age of eleven. He felt that such division led only to conflict and unreasonable expectations. However, the Sorting was a tradition almost as old as the school itself, and Dumbledore could not discontinue it without raising an outcry, House loyalties being what they were. 

Normally, Dumbledore did not interfere with, or try to influence the Sorting, even when he questioned the Hat's judgment in his own mind. He recognised that the Hat had its own criteria, and had been quietly doing its job for centuries before the headmaster had been born. For a moment, he paused to contemplate all of the famous and infamous and forgotten heads on which the Hat had rested over the years. Today, though, his concern was with the future. 

Lifting the ancient hat, he settled it on his own head. 

"Something on your mind, Headmaster?" it asked, a small voice in his ear. "Besides me, of course." 

"Witty as always, Godric's hat," Dumbledore replied. "I wanted to have a word with you about a student who will be starting at the school next month." 

"I know," the Hat said smugly. "I can see it all in here. A werewolf, eh? Well, that's a new one on me. Or me on a new one. I've never been worn by one before." 

"I was thinking perhaps Hufflepuff," Dumbledore suggested. 

"The House of 'come one, come all'?" said the Hat thoughtfully. "Maybe so. But there might be better places for a lone wolf. I'll make no promises without seeing the lad's mind for myself." 

"I've always abided by your judgment," said the headmaster, "and I intend to do so in this case as well. I only meant to give fair warning, so that you will have time to think about the sort of housemates a young werewolf might require. It is imperative that, wherever you put him, his secret will be safe. I want him to have every possible chance of succeeding at this school." 

"He reminds you of the sister," the Hat said shrewdly. "The one I never met." 

"Ariana." Dumbledore's expression saddened. "She was so alone. I've often wondered whether she might not have got better if she had been allowed to come to school and be with children her own age. Perhaps hiding her away was the wrong thing to do." 

"Broken minds do not often heal cleanly," the Hat mused. "Is the boy broken?" 

"Not like she was," said the headmaster. "He's a sad, lonely little boy who has had to spend altogether too much time being worried and fearful. Boys of his age should be having fun and laughing and making friends." 

"Then we must ask ourselves," said the Hat thoughtfully, "what sort of friends a werewolf needs."


	4. Sorted

Back straight, head held high, Sirius Black stepped onto Platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station. Today was the day he would claim an important part of his birthright: his place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a proud member of Slytherin House. He stood tall in his new robes with a green-and-white striped school scarf draped about his neck, though the day was rather warm for it, trying to hang on to an air of disdainful boredom, but it was difficult amidst all the hustle and bustle. His poise lasted only until his younger brother arrived on the platform, jostling him from behind. 

"Watch it, Regs," he snapped. 

"Sorry," mumbled Regulus. "Didn't know it would be so easy to get through, did I?" 

Sirius hadn't known either, of course, but he had approached the entrance to the magical platform with all the dignity he could muster, hoping that he was not about to humiliate himself by ploughing face-first into a solid brick wall. Regulus, on the other hand, had clearly taken it at a run. 

The two boys stepped out of the way as their parents appeared behind them, followed by Kreacher, who pushed the trolly containing Sirius's school trunk and owl, a magnificent jet-black bird named Midnight. Everything in the trunk was new -- the most expensive money could buy -- and the only thing that was missing was a top-quality racing broom. First year students weren't allowed them, which Sirius felt was monumentally unfair, but his father had promised that, if his marks were good this year, he would have the very latest model for his twelfth birthday next June. 

"Put it on the train -- _carefully_ ," his father directed the house-elf, as another trolly almost careened into him. "Then you may return home." 

"Hi, Sirius!" called a voice. Peter Pettigrew and his mother were trotting over to them. 

"Hi," said Sirius a little stiffly. 

"A bunch of us already have a compartment on the train," said Peter. "Wanna sit with us?" 

"Who's there?" Sirius asked. One of the most important aspects of going to Hogwarts was making contacts with other children from good families, thus assuring himself a prosperous future. He wanted to be sure to start out on the right foot, and he wasn't sure sitting with Peter was it. 

"Rab Lestrange," Peter told him. "Evan. A girl called Maddy. She's a first year, too. Oh, and your cousin Narcissa and her boyfriend." 

Sirius considered it. Rabastan Lestrange and Evan Rosier both came from excellent families, and were, like Sirius, only just beginning their education at Hogwarts. He didn't know any girls called Maddy, but if she was sitting with those two, she was probably safe. Sixteen-year-old Narcissa, of course, was family, and seventh year Lucius Malfoy soon would be, but he knew he should be careful of seeming too close to them after the scandals of the previous year. 

Not that it had been either of their faults, of course. Lucius couldn't help it that his betrothed, Molly Prewett, had eloped with the son of a notorious blood-traitor family, but it was still an embarrassment. His fallback had been Sirius's other cousin, Andromeda, but she had done the Prewett girl one better, and run off with a Muggleborn wizard, which left Lucius with the youngest of the three Black sisters. 

Sirius's parents had made a number of scathing remarks at the time, leaving Sirius with the distinct impression that most of the problems men faced in life were caused by the unruly nature of women. He glanced at his mother for guidance. 

She pursed her lips. "The family should be seen to support Narcissa," she said at last. "But go carefully, and don't appear _too_ friendly. If they make a mockery of this family, they're done for, and I won't have them dragging our good name through the muck any more than they can help." 

"Yes, Mother," Sirius said, then turned to Regulus. "Well, I guess this is it." 

"Yeah," said his brother, mouth trembling. "Wish I could go with you." Sirius hoped he wasn't about to start blubbing like a girl right there on the platform. 

"You'll be starting before you know it," Sirius told him. "And by the time you do, I'll be able to introduce you to everyone you'll need to know. We'll be the Kings of Slytherin." 

Regulus grinned at that. "Write to me?" 

"Every week," Sirius promised. 

He allowed his brother to grab him an a brief hug before turning to his parents. 

"Watch yourself," his mother reminded him for the thousandth time. "Dumbledore lets all sorts into that school. The Mudbloods will be easy to spot, but the half-bloods can be tricky sorts. Don't trust anyone until you know who their families are." 

His father offered him a firm handshake. "Remember that you're not just another boy going to school, son," he said. "You're there representing our family and our good name. The others are going to know you're better than them. Some of them will resent you for it, but most should fall into line quick enough once you take your proper place in Slytherin." 

"I won't forget," Sirius assured them. "See you at Christmas." 

He gave Regulus a last wave, and turned away. Peter was hopping impatiently from foot to foot as his mother made a last attempt at trying to straighten his robes and his hair. 

"C'mon, Pete," he said. 

"Bye, Mum," Peter called, breaking away from her. 

"Have fun at school, Petey," Mrs Pettigrew called tearfully. "I love you!" 

Peter blushed. "You too," he mumbled. 

"Mama's boy," Sirius teased, as they made their way to the train. 

"Shut up, Black," Peter replied, but Sirius knew he didn't really mean it. Peter knew better than to address a son of the House of Black like that. 

Sirius was amazed by the sheer number of unfamiliar faces on the train. He had thought he knew half the population of the Wizarding world, especially the ones close to his own age. They didn't seem to know who he was either. Hardly anyone stood aside to let him pass unhindered as he and Peter struggled through a sea of jostling adolescents towards their compartment. He lifted his head a little higher, and made disdainful eye contact with a few. They would learn soon enough who he was. 

At least the children in his own compartment -- when at long last they reached it -- knew the proper order of things. They scooted down, unasked, to give Sirius a seat by the window. Across from him was Lucius Malfoy, who held his own window seat by right of seniority, in addition to being of good family. Malfoy gave him a wary look, but nodded in greeting. 

"Black." 

"Malfoy," Sirius replied, returning the nod. 

Narcissa flashed him a quick, tight smile of familial acknowledgment before returning her simpering blue eyes to Malfoy's imperious profile. His right hand was clutched between both of hers. 

Rabastan Lestrange and Evan Rosier had their faces pressed against the window into the corridor, playing a game of trying to guess people's Houses as they went past. Every time they pointed out a Hufflepuff, they would hoot and snort rudely. Hufflepuffs were not well-regarded by Slytherins. Hard work and loyalty were well enough, but they were nothing compared to being born into the right family. The House had a reputation for the highest percentage of Muggleborn students in the school, and Sirius had heard they were _proud_ of the fact. 

A dark-haired girl with large green eyes sat watching Lestrange and Rosier's antics. When Sirius inquired after her family, she introduced herself as Madeleine Yaxley. Her mother was Cartimandua Venuti, daughter of an old Italian Wizarding family who had come to Britain only in the last century. Her father had been Boniface Yaxley, and from the way Madeleine spoke of him in the past tense, Sirius assumed he must be dead. Yaxley was an old Wizarding family name in Britain -- one of his great aunts or somesuch had married one -- so Sirius left it at that. 

By this time, the train was well underway. 

Looking around the compartment, Sirius saw his future. Malfoy and Narcissa were both Slytherins already, of course, but he guessed that the rest of this lot would be, as well. Except Peter. He viewed the short, blond, baby-faced boy with contempt and pity. 

_He'll never make Slytherin,_ he thought, tugging self-consciously at his scarf. _Hufflepuff, probably. They'll let anyone in._ If Peter were Sorted into Hufflepuff, that would be the end of their friendship. Sirius wondered if he would miss the other boy. 

Just then the compartment door slid open to reveal a pale, sickly-looking boy with golden brown hair and large, nervous brown eyes, wearing patched and shabby robes. 

"No room," sneered Narcissa, looking at the boy's clothes, and not his face. 

In fact, Sirius was the only one in the compartment who looked at the boy's face at all. He had some odd scarring, Sirius noticed, and turned away quickly when he caught Sirius looking at him. He closed the door again and was gone, without ever uttering a word. 

"Who was that?" Sirius asked without thinking. 

The other children shrugged. 

"Who cares?" said Narcissa disdainfully. "Probably just some Mudblood. Did you see the state of his robes? Our house-elf is better dressed! I would be too embarrassed to show my face if my robes looked like that!" 

"Yeah," said Sirius, putting the shabby boy out of his mind. "Me, too." 

* * *

At Hogsmeade Station, Narcissa and Malfoy wished them well as they were rounded up along with the other first years for the traditional journey across the lake. Their guide was a huge, hairy man whose name Sirius did not bother to remember, who confided that it was his first time escorting the new students. 

"Ten Galleons says his boat sinks," Sirius muttered to his fellow future Slytherins. 

"Don't think you'll find anyone to take that bet, mate," Lestrange said. 

The children around them were buzzing with excitement as their party split up into two separate boats. Yaxley went with Lestrange and Rosier, while Sirius and Peter found themselves sharing with a sullen-looking, black-haired boy and a pretty, redheaded girl who appeared to be friends. 

All around him, Sirius could hear the four Houses of Hogwarts being mentioned with varying degrees of anticipation and fear. Some of them would shortly find themselves sorted into Hufflepuff, or that notorious blood-traitor House, Gryffindor. Ravenclaw wasn't so bad, but only the truly elect were singled out for Slytherin. Sirius wasn't worried; Blacks were always Slytherins, as far back as anyone could remember, just as all Weasleys were Gryffindors. Sirius wondered idly if the red-haired girl in the boat with him was a Weasley before he remembered that the Weasleys never produced girls. 

"Who are your family?" he asked, just to be sure. 

She seemed to think he was being friendly, and smiled at him. "I'm Lily Evans," she said, putting out her hand. "My family are from Yorkshire." 

"Evans," he said thoughtfully, not shaking the proffered hand. "That doesn't sound familiar. Are you at all connected with the Weasleys?" He unconsciously used the disdainful inflection with which his parents always said the name. 

"Oh, no!" the girl said with a pretty laugh. "My family aren't wizards at all! I'm the first." She looked _proud_ of the fact. 

Sirius wrinkled his nose. " _Muggleborn_ ," he said in disgust, turning away. 

The other boy in the boat was eyeing him with mistrust. 

"I suppose you're Muggleborn, too?" Sirius challenged him. 

"No," the boy scowled. "My family are magical." 

"Who are they, then?" 

"Snape. Sheffield." The boy gave him a contemptuous look, as if daring him to make something of it. 

"Never heard of them, either. How far back do they go?" 

"My Mum's from the Prince family," Snape said defiantly. "Heard of them?" 

Sirius shrugged. "And your father?" 

The boy dropped his eyes, lips pressed tightly together. It was the girl who answered, voice sharp. 

"Sev's dad is a Muggle. And there's nothing wrong with that." 

" _Lily_ ," the boy said imploringly. 

"Well, there isn't," she told him. "He's just being a snob, Sev. Don't pay him any mind." 

Sirius snorted and turned his back on the pair in disgust. As if he should care what some Mudblood _girl_ thought of him! 

The rest of the short trip across the lake was made in silence. 

Though he had been well-schooled in the belief that almost everything should be beneath his notice, it was hard for Sirius not to feel a little bit awed when he gazed up at the ancient walls of Hogwarts castle towering over him for the first time. The castle was immense -- far too large for the mere three-hundred-odd students and two dozen or so staff it contained. In the time of the school's founders, the castle had been build first as a refuge -- a safe place to accommodate the entire population of Wizarding Britain in a world increasingly hostile to magic -- and only secondarily as a repository of knowledge and institute of learning. The castle was big enough that Sirius believed it. 

The excited chatter of the new first years subsided as they crowded into the entrance hall. Sirius paid no attention to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's explanation of the Sorting Ceremony. As far as he was concerned, it was just a formality. He would go up, put on the Hat, and then walk to the Slytherin table to join the people with whom he would be living for the next seven years. Slytherin being the largest House, there would be a lot of them; plenty of people for him to make connections with, and begin building a promising future for himself. 

They filed into the Great Hall, which was lit with hundreds of candles beneath the twilight blue sky, and clustered near the staff table, many casting nervous glances at the crowd of older students who stared at them with frank interest. 

Sirius was a little surprised to see how worn and shabby the Sorting Hat was. But then, he supposed it must be very old. A rip opened in its brim, and it began to sing a song of some sort, but Sirius didn't pay much attention. He stood, looking at nothing in particular, waiting for his name to be called as Peter twitched and shifted beside him. 

The names were read alphabetically, which suited Sirius well enough. Better that they didn't keep him standing around forever. His name was preceded by only three others; two Slytherins and a Ravenclaw. 

At last, McGonagall called out, "Black, Sirius!" 

Back straight, eyes forwards, he approached the stool, sat, and put on the Hat that would confirm him in his destiny. 

"Oh, ho, ho!" said a small voice in his ear. "A Black, eh? Well, well, well. A clever one, too." 

Sirius waited impatiently for the Hat to say "Slytherin". Why was it taking so long? 

"Oh, so you think you're going to be in Slytherin, do you?" said the Hat. "I wouldn't be so sure about that! Too much the rebel for House Slytherin, I fear. Now, let me see .... There's enough loyalty here for Hufflepuff, but not enough hard work and dedication. You're clever, but you don't like to study, so not Ravenclaw either. Really there is only one place for you, and it has to be GRYFFINDOR!" it finished, shouting out its verdict for all the hall to hear. 

It had to be a mistake. This simply could not be happening. Sirius felt faint. There was a stunned silence from the Slytherin table, and a babble of confused whispers broke out at the other three. Slowly, all eyes on him, he stood and walked down the centre of the room to an empty seat at the Gryffindor table. There was none of the cheering and backslapping which had greeted the three students Sorted before him. Everyone was looking at him. He heard a nasty giggle from the Slytherin table. His cousin Narcissa. 

"I guess he's not one of us after all," she said loudly. 

Numbly, Sirius sank onto the Gryffindor bench, into a space that had been left clear for the newest additions to the House. All down the table, eyes turned towards him. There was no overt hostility, but there was silence and wary curiosity. Sirius's eyes were firmly fixed on the table in front of him. 

A moment later, someone sat down on the bench next to him. 

"Hi," said the redheaded girl from the boat, trying once more to be friendly. "Looks like we're housemates. I didn't catch your name --?" 

"Go away, Mudblood," Sirius growled. 

There was a sharp intake of breath all down the Gryffindor table. The girl didn't seem to know the word, but recognised it for an obvious insult. She stopped trying to talk to Sirius, and slid down the bench a little, turning instead to introduce herself to another new Gryffindor girl. 

The Sorting continued, and as each new member of Slytherin House was announced, Sirius's expression became more and more sour, and he slumped lower and lower in his seat. Even a poncy-looking blond boy named Lockhart was sorted into Slytherin, while he, Sirius, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, was stuck in _Gryffindor_ , the House of blood-traitors. What would his parents say? He would have to tell them. 

But as he ground his teeth and contemptuously watched Lockhart take his seat among the Slytherins, his view was blocked by someone standing uncertainly across the table from him. Startled, he looked up into the face of the pale, shabby boy from the train. 

"Is it all right if I sit here?" the boy asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Sirius nodded, forgetting to sulk for a moment. The boy sat down, and Sirius looked at him expectantly, thinking that he would introduce himself, or ask Sirius for his name. He did neither, only stared down at the table as Sirius had been doing moments before. Sirius wondered what House he had expected to be in. 

A few minutes later, Peter plopped himself down between Sirius and the Muggleborn girl. 

"This is brilliant!" he said. "The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked it to put me with you instead, and it said OK!" 

_Brilliant,_ sulked Sirius. _Even pathetic Peter had a shot at Slytherin._

Peter was quickly followed by a black boy with wildly curly hair and glasses. He shook hands with everyone within reach, grinning broadly and introducing himself as James Potter, saying how happy he was to be in Gryffindor. Sirius could tell that he was the sort of boy to whom people took an instant liking, and stubbornly resolved not to like him. 

Perhaps if he didn't get on with the other boys in his dormitory, the headmaster would be forced to transfer him to Slytherin. Instead of introducing himself to the Potter boy, he stared resolutely across the room, just in time to see the sullen, dark-haired boy from the boat being sorted into Slytherin. 

_Even common Mudbloods get Sorted into Slytherin,_ he thought in horrified disgust. _Mother and Father will be furious! Maybe they'll write to Dumbledore and make him move me._

He paid no attention during the start of term announcements, which included the appointment of the new gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, the big man who had taken the first years across the lake, and who was apparently already well known around the castle, and the introduction of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Hextilda Tynedale. 

The food appeared at last, but Sirius found he had little appetite for it. He remained silent, ignoring the cheerful chatter around him, letting Peter introduce him to the others as necessary, and replying to any direct questions with no more than a shrug. The only thing he really noticed during that interminable meal was that the pale boy across from him neither spoke nor ate any more than he did. 

When the students rose to adjourn to their common rooms, he trailed along behind the rest of the Gryffindors, as if hoping to disassociate himself from them. He barely paid any attention when the Gryffindor prefect -- a tall, sandy-haired sixth year named Fabian Prewett -- gave them the password, "Dragon Bogies", with a mischievous grin. All he could think about was what he would tell his parents. 

If it hadn't been for Peter, he probably would have spent the night standing in the middle of the common room, staring at his feet and feeling sorry for himself. But Peter grabbed his arm and dragged him up the spiral staircase to a room near the top of the stairs, which contained four large, curtained four-poster beds, their school trunks, and James Potter. The shabby boy was nowhere to be seen. 

"You blokes want to play Exploding Snap?" Potter asked. 

"Maybe," said Peter uncertainly. 

Sirius didn't answer, but went straight to his trunk and began rummaging around in it for ink, quills and parchment. Better to just get it over with before his parents found out from someone else. 

Potter seemed untroubled at being ignored. "Well, we can't very well play with two. C'mon. Peter, wasn't it? Let's go down to the common room and see if we can get anyone else." 

Peter shrugged, and as the door closed behind the two boys, Sirius heard Potter ask, "What's his problem, anyway?" 

Sirius hunched his shoulders and climbed up onto the bed against which his trunk rested. _Let Peter tell him, he thought. What do I care?_

He knew the Potters were pure-bloods, but they were an old Gryffindor family of the sort that thought Muggles were people. They did not move in the same circles as the Black family, and thus Sirius had never crossed paths with James Potter before today. 

Pulling the curtains closed around him gave him a small measure of relief. He was alone; no one was staring at him, though no doubt they were still talking and laughing about him in the Slytherin common room several floors below. He unrolled a piece of parchment onto the flat surface of his Transfiguration textbook, dipped the quill into the inkwell on the nightstand, and held it poised to write -- what? 

What could he say to make his parents understand that this wasn't his fault -- that he hadn't asked for this or wanted it or in any way deserved what amounted to a cruel joke? 

> _Dear Mother and Father,_ he wrote at last. 
> 
> _I am writing to Inform you that the Sorting Hat has decided to put me in Gryffindor. I think it must be a Mistake. I don't know how else it could have Happened. Everyone is being Horrible about it. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry. I just thought you should Know. Peter got Sorted into Gryffindor, too._
> 
> _Your Obedient Son,_   
>  _Sirius_

He stared at the parchment, wishing there were some good news he could offer to soften the blow. A drop of moisture appeared, smudging the text. He quickly blotted it away, angrily wiping his eyes. 

_Blacks don't cry,_ he reminded himself. But Blacks didn't get Sorted into Gryffindor, either. 

Rolling up the parchment, he slid off the bed to fetch Midnight from his cage, just as the door to the room opened and the pale boy came in. 

"Oh," he said, stopping when he saw Sirius. "Hi." 

Sirius surprised himself by responding. "Hi." 

They stood staring awkwardly at one another for a moment. 

"Remus Lupin," the pale boy mumbled at last, eyes dropping to the floor. 

It took Sirius a few seconds to realise the boy was introducing himself. "Sirius Black," he said. 

"Nice to meet you," Lupin told his shoes. "Er -- G'night." 

The boy almost dove onto the fourth bed and yanked the drapes shut around him. 

Sirius shrugged and turned back to his owl. With trembling fingers, he tied the unwelcome news to its leg, and went to open the window. 

"Fly away home," he said softly as the owl disappeared into the night. "Tell them it's not my fault."


	5. The Invisible Boy

After his experiences in Diagon Alley, Remus had half expected to be found out in his first week at Hogwarts, and sent home. He had expected to be looked down on and mocked by the other students for the shabbiness of his robes and the scuffed and worn appearance of his school things. It had never occurred to him that anyone might take issue with his heritage. He had naively supposed that wizards were wizards, and a person either had magic or they didn't. 

He was shocked by how deeply many of his school fellows seemed to care about blood status. It was an especially hot issue among the Slytherins, but all of the Houses suffered from it to a greater or lesser extent, and Remus became self-consciously aware that all of his roommates were so-called "pure-bloods". 

Remus's father was a wizard, and his grandfather and great-grandfather before him, but every last one of them had married Muggles. He might have argued that this must mean the magical genes in his paternal line were especially strong. But Remus never argued. He tried very hard not to speak or make eye-contact with anyone at all, unless it was absolutely necessary. It was safer not to draw attention to himself. 

So far, this strategy had been fairly successful. Apart from his professors, hardly anyone seemed to notice him at all. Even his roommates ignored him after the first night, though he was aware of the lines of tension drawn between the four of them. 

Potter was friendly enough, but Remus got the distinct impression that he had little use for quiet, thoughtful types. Black had spoken to the others almost as little as Remus himself had. Remus had gleaned that he was upset at having been Sorted into Gryffindor, when he had expected to be made a Slytherin. Pettigrew, who had apparently been friends with Black for some time, spent the majority of his time with Potter as Black became more and more sullen and withdrawn. 

Remus was puzzled by his own Sorting. He knew that his father had been a Gryffindor, but had never thought to ask about the school's other three Houses. The Sorting Hat's song, and everything he had heard subsequently, had given him to understand that Gryffindors were meant to be rather dashing and daring types, which didn't sound like him at all. But while the Hat had taken ages to place several of the other children, Remus had worn it for less than a minute. 

"Oh, so you're the one!" it had said in Remus's bewildered ear. "Not to worry; I've got just the place for you. GRYFFINDOR!" 

He had still been pondering the Hat's decision when he left the Great Hall following the feast that night. Trailing along behind the other Gryffindors, he had been waylaid by a rather no-nonsense looking young woman who introduced herself as Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron. 

"Remus Lupin?" she had asked, clearly already knowing the answer. "Come along with me." 

She had taken him up to her office in the hospital wing to discuss the arrangements that had been made for the full moon. Dumbledore, it seemed, had taken possession of an old house in the village of Hogsmeade, and had made it secure to Ministry specifications. The only way in or out was through a secret passageway which started on school grounds, the entrance to which was guarded by a tree called a Whomping Willow, which was apparently so violent that it would not only deter students from discovering the entrance, but would prevent him escaping in his transformed state, should he make it so far out of the house. 

"You'll meet me here in the hospital wing at least an hour before sunset," Madam Pomfrey had told him. "I will escort you as far as the passageway. It is your responsibility to make certain you are not late." 

He had only nodded. She seemed to be a kindly, matter-of-fact sort of person, prepared to make allowances for his condition, but personally untroubled by it. 

"On the following mornings," she had continued, "I will come to the house to fetch you. You'll have the day to recover here, and if you're well enough, you may return to your dormitory that night. We'll try to ensure that you don't miss any more classes than absolutely necessary." 

"Thank you, Ma'am," he had said quietly. 

He had expected her to dismiss him then, but instead, she had beckoned him over to a shelf of books. They were mostly medical texts, herbals, books of potions, but on one shelf, he saw several titles on lycanthropy. 

"I've taken the liberty of fetching these up from the library's Restricted Section," she informed him. "They'll be here unless another student gets specific permission to borrow them. If you have any questions, you are welcome to consult them at any time. There is no need to ask for my permission." 

Remus had pulled one of the books from the shelf and thumbed through it at random. He had done a fair amount of reading about his condition, but few of these titles were ones he recognised. The one he had opened seemed to be a treatise on juvenile and adolescent werewolves. His eye caught a chapter title that made him blush, and he hurriedly snapped the book shut and stuffed it back onto the shelf. He had mumbled his thanks again, asked directions to his dormitory, and wished her good night. 

His first full moon at Hogwarts had unfortunately occurred barely a week into term. The classes, which were probably fascinating, were unfortunately beyond his ability to focus or process. By the end of the week, Remus was flustered, frustrated, and his confidence in his scholarship was severely shaken. The only class in which he had distinguished himself at all was Defence Against the Dark Arts, when Professor Tynedale had awarded him five House points for being able to name the three classes of defence spells: protective, neutralising, and offensive. 

Potions was the worst. He had only had one lesson so far, but it had been a disaster. Enhanced senses were just one of the side effects of his condition, and the Potions classroom was home to a dizzying welter of strong odors. So close to the full moon, it was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach, which, coupled with his inability to focus, resulted in several ingredients begin added not only in the wrong amounts, but in the wrong order. Potter, who had partnered with him for the class, had shoved him aside impatiently and tried to salvage their Shrinking Solution as best he could, but it had been far too late. 

Lying in the hospital wing the morning after the full moon, just the memory of the smell of that first potion was enough to turn his stomach. He gritted his teeth. _I won't,_ he informed himself. He hardly ever vomited anymore after his transformations, and when he did, it was usually because of the pain. 

The house provided by Dumbledore for his transformations had been better than the cell at the Ministry, but for the first time in over a year, he had woken cold and alone on a hard, bare floor. True, Madam Pomfrey and appeared soon after that, and she had fussed and crooned over him, tending his hurts and bundling him up before transporting him back to the castle -- a long, bumpy and uncomfortable process -- but he missed the comfort of waking in his own bed, or being carried in his father's strong arms. There was no one here to sing to him or read to him or curl up beside him, and the tea Madam Pomfrey brewed for him was bitter, nasty stuff. 

Remus could force his stomach to be quiet, but he couldn't stop the tears from coming. He missed his family desperately. Here, he had no one. Dumbledore was kind, but he was a busy man, and while Madam Pomfrey was clearly a compassionate woman, she was no substitute for his mother. Hot tears slipped down his cheeks. The castle felt huge and cold around him, and he felt very small and very much alone. He almost wished that someone would discover his secret. Then he would have an excuse to go home without disappointing his father or feeling like he'd given up. 

There was nothing to do in the hospital wing but feel sorry for himself or sleep, and eventually Remus tired of doing the former and tried to do the latter instead. His school books and a few favourites he had brought from home were all in his dormitory, and he hadn't been able to bring any music with him to Hogwarts. He supposed he could ask Madam Pomfrey to bring him one of werewolf books from her office, but he was miserable enough without reading more about why he was miserable. 

He slept through most of the day, waking at dusk to find Madam Pomfrey standing over him. 

"Everyone's at supper," she told him. "If you want to go back to your dormitory now, you may." 

He got shakily out of bed, pulling on the robes that hung over the chair beside it. The corridors were blessedly empty, as was the Gryffindor common room and his own dormitory. Remus got ready for bed as quickly as his aching muscles would allow, and was in his bed with the curtains drawn, reading by wandlight -- the only charm he had mastered thus far -- by the time the other boys returned from supper. If he stayed quiet, maybe they would think he was asleep, and leave him alone. 

Remus half-listened to the sounds of them bumping around the room, mumbling to one another and slowly getting ready to go to their own beds. He tried to read, but he couldn't stop thinking about the dream he had had that afternoon -- a dream at once strange and familiar -- of the half-forgotten black dog of his childhood. It was the first time he had dreamed of it since he was bitten. The dog hadn't actually appeared in the dream, but Remus had known it was somewhere nearby, and he had been searching for it. The unseen presence had been oddly comforting. 

So caught up was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice what was being said beyond his bed hangings until they were pulled aside. 

"Oh. You're awake," Black said. 

Remus looked up, but didn't say anything. 

The other boy held something out to him. "Just -- there was a package for you. Thought you might want it." 

He closed his book and sat up, taking the parcel from Black's hand. He already knew what it was -- the scent brought tears of homesickness and gratitude to his eyes that he quickly blinked away -- and he tore open the paper to find a package of the Honeymarrow tea his mother always brewed for him. There was a note tucked in with it. 

> _Dear Remus,_
> 
> _I hope you're doing OK. Maybe this will help. I stole the owl to send it. I miss you loads. You better write to me soon._
> 
> _Love,  
>  Natalie_

Black had not retreated from the gap in Remus's hangings. "What is it?" he asked. Potter and Pettigrew were shooting him curious glances as well. 

It was a few seconds before Remus felt he could trust his voice. "Tea," he replied. "From my sister." 

"Boring gift," said Pettigrew dubiously. 

Remus just shook his head, carefully depositing the package on his nightstand. He wished Black would close the curtains and go away, but he seemed unprepared to do so. 

"What're you reading?" he asked instead, already reaching for the book. 

Remus didn't want to give it to him, but withholding it would only cause more of a fuss. He could tell from Black's sulky attitude of the past week that he was used to getting his own way, and it was easier to just let him have it than try to resist. 

Black turned the well-loved book over in his hands, aristocratic features drawn up in a scowl. "Jane Austen," he read. " _Pride and Prejudice_. Sounds girly. And Mugglish." 

"It's not," Remus said quietly. "Not girly, I mean." 

"But it's Muggle." Black peered at him again. "Are you Muggleborn?" he asked with an unconscious sneer at the word. 

"No." Remus kept his voice even, trying not to show his dislike for the haughty boy. 

"Half-blood, then," Black said dismissively. "Figures." 

_More like eighth-blood_ , thought Remus, but he didn't say anything. 

Black fixed him with an accusing look. "You weren't here last night." 

"Wasn't he?" asked Pettigrew, pausing in the midst of putting on his pyjamas. 

"No," said Black, eyes not leaving Remus's face. "And he wasn't in class today, either." 

"Don't know how you'd notice," Potter said with a laugh. "Hardly seems like he's there most of the time, anyway. Except when he's wrecking my potions." 

Remus tensed, waiting for the question that must come next. _My mum's ill. I had to go home and see her,_ he rehearsed in his head. 

But it never came. Instead, Black shrugged, tossed the book back on the bed, and turned away, letting the hangings fall back into place. 

Remus hugged the book to his chest. The room was dark and quiet by the time he drifted off to sleep wondering why, when he just wanted to be left alone, it should bother him that his roommates didn't care enough to ask where he had gone. 

* * *

He had missed Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Transfiguration while he had been recovering in the hospital wing. Not wanting to draw more attention to his absence, he was unwilling to ask his roommates if he could borrow their notes. Instead, during the half hour break between double Herbology and lunch, he had gone to seek out Professor Tynedale and Professor Flitwick to find out what he had missed. After lunch, he arrived early for Transfiguration. 

Remus was not certain how much the professors knew, but clearly Dumbledore had told them enough that he didn't have to make excuses for his absence. All three gave him some extra reading to do, but since it was early in the term, he hadn't missed much. 

After that, things began to get a little better for Remus, at least in the classroom. His improvement at Potions was very slight, and he frequently lacked the self-confidence necessary for Transfiguration and Charms, but defensive magic came naturally to him, and he found he rather enjoyed Herbology as well. The only real disaster in the second week was his first flying lesson. 

The fine art of not falling off one's broom was taught by Madam Larkin, a tiny woman with flyaway grey hair and the general build of a sparrow. Rumour had it that she had once played Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team, and was famous for broomstick trick-riding. 

Looking at the cluster of Slytherins and his fellow Gryffindors, Remus realised he was probably one of the only people present who had never been on a broom before. A few of the more nervous types, like Pettigrew, seemed a little wary, but the rest chatted amongst themselves or looked bored until Madam Larkin instructed them all to go and stand beside a broom. 

It took several tries before Remus managed to say "Up!" loud enough to get his broom's attention. It seemed to sense his trepidation, and rose reluctantly to hover just below his hand. He grasped the handle, and mounted when told to do so. 

At first, everything seemed to go well enough. The broom carried him aloft a few feet while he clutched the handle in a white-knuckled grip. Unfortunately, it seemed that the broom was only trying to lull him into a false sense of security. It jerked sideways, throwing him off balance, and he found himself hanging upside down, clinging to the handle with his arms and legs to keep himself from falling. Then the broom dropped. Remus landed hard on his back, wind knocked out of him, still clutching the sadistic broom. 

Everyone was laughing. Even Madam Larkin had to work hard to suppress a smile as she told Remus to go sit down for a few minutes to catch his breath. He went, blushing, to lean against the stones of the castle wall, feeling like a failure. It didn't help that his classmates were soon zooming merrily around the grounds, laughing and yelling back and forth at one another. Even when Pettigrew accidentally ran headlong into a Slytherin girl, knocking both of them from the air, it didn't make him feel any better. 

Potter was clearly the best at flying, but he had boasted to already having his own broom at home. He dodged nimbly among the Slytherins, trying to distract them and throw them off, coming close without ever touching them. Madam Larkin yelled at him to stop messing about, but he only laughed and swooped at an effeminate boy named Lockhart, who squeaked and ploughed into the ground. 

_What would it be like, not to care?_ Remus wondered. In a way, he envied Potter that. He was the opposite of everything Remus was, keeping all eyes on him at all times, and revelling in the attention, both positive and negative. Even Madam Larkin seemed to have forgotten about Remus, as if he were fading into the grey of the stones and the green of the grass. 

As the lesson ended, the students stacked their brooms neatly under Madam Larkin's watchful eye. A few of them glanced at Remus as they passed, whispering and sniggering to one another. He caught the words "pathetic" and "hopeless", and he looked away, pretending not to hear or care. 

It was better to be invisible. 

* * *

It was the Slytherins who came up with the name "Flying Ace", but his roommates picked it up quickly enough. Remus knew better than to respond to the taunts, and took to hiding out in the library instead. It was a safe refuge where he was surrounded by books and protected from the mockery of the other students by the watchful eyes of Madam Pince, the school librarian, who was quick to _shush_ anyone she caught talking in her hallowed sanctuary. 

While he avoided everyone, Remus caught up with his studies, and even found some time for a little extracurricular reading. He also managed to find quiet corners of the school where he could practise Charms and Transfiguration. When at last he succeeded in turning a quill into a leaf and back again, he began to gain a little more confidence in his abilities. 

But even if he could hide from everyone else, he couldn't hide from his roommates. First years were required to return to their common rooms after supper each night, which meant at least a couple of hours spent with the others before bedtime. Potter and Pettigrew often spent their evenings in the common room playing games, but Black hid himself away in the dormitory as much as Remus did. Sometimes they would pull their drapes shut and pretend to be asleep, but they knew they weren't really fooling one another. 

He wouldn't have minded the other boy's presence -- most of the time he kept his silence and left Remus alone -- but every now and then he would make some barbed comment about Remus's poor performance in class, or his personal habits, or his Muggle heritage. And he was nosy. Tonight it was Remus's tidiness that seemed to have got under his skin. 

"Why do you keep everything so bloody neat?" Black asked rudely. "You afraid your Muggle mum is going to come up here and smack you if there's a sock out of place? There's house-elves to take care of that stuff, you know." 

"I just like to know where things are," Remus mumbled, not looking at him. 

"As much as you like flying?" Black smirked. "Don't see why you bother keeping everything neat when it's all a load of old rubbish anyway." 

The fact was that Remus was a firm believer in order. It was part of the careful control he maintained in all aspects of his life. If he could be in control of his surroundings, then it helped him to be in control of himself. His school things and robes might be worn and secondhand, but he kept them clean and in good repair. He knew that Black and the others would never understand the need that drove him, so he kept quiet and hoped the other boy would grow bored of taunting him and go away. 

For a while, it looked as though he might do just that. Black flopped down on his bed with a dramatic sigh of boredom, and took out his Charms book. Remus went back to his History of Magic notes, trying to make sense of the names and dates ghostly Professor Binns had given them the previous afternoon. 

" _Expulso!_ " said Black, and too late Remus realised he hadn't been doing his homework at all. The lid of Remus's trunk burst open, and all of his possessions erupted out onto the floor. 

Remus closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, he found Black watching him from across the mess. He looked mildly pleased with himself. 

"What're you gonna do?" he challenged. 

Carefully setting aside his notes, Remus got off the bed and approached the other boy, who suddenly looked a little nervous. Remus plucked the wand from Black's surprised fingers and hurled it into the air, drawing his own wand at the same time. 

" _Tenax,_ " he said, and with a _splat_ , the wand stuck fast to the ceiling, far out of Black's reach. 

Remus turned away and began methodically stowing his things back in his trunk. 

"Wanker," he heard Black mutter. 

Remus allowed himself a slight smile. 

* * *

His second full moon at Hogwarts was no better than the first. It was actually slightly worse, in that it was October now, and colder in the old house, with autumn winds whistling between the boards that covered the windows. Fortunately, Remus had awoken in a room that contained an old bed, and had managed to crawl up onto it, shivering, and pull the dusty comforter over himself while he waited for Madam Pomfrey to come collect him. 

The hospital wing was warmer, at least, with roaring fires burning in the huge hearths at either end. But the warmth, and the fact that he now had the tea he liked, made him no less lonely. Remus tried to tell himself that he was much too old be to crying for his mother, but that only made him feel more miserable. It was one of the days when the pain was too bad for him to sleep, and he had nothing to distract himself from it. 

The curtains shielding his bed rustled, and he quickly rubbed his face on the sheet, not wanting even Madam Pomfrey to see him in that state. But it wasn't the matron who drew aside the hangings. Wide, green eyes stared at him from a face covered in itchy-looking red spots which clashed with long, dark red hair. 

"Oh!" said the girl when she saw him. "Er -- are you OK, Lupin?" 

Lily Evans was in his year in Gryffindor, but the two of them had never spoken. He didn't really know anything about her, apart from the fact that she excelled at Potions and Charms, and was the only person besides himself who seemed to take notes in History of Magic. 

"I'm fine," he said quickly, wishing he didn't sound so congested. "Just -- not feeling well." He quickly deflected the question back to her. "Are you OK?" 

She nodded, eyes flashing fire. "Just some stupid hex. Apparently the other Slytherins don't think I'm good enough to be friends with Severus." 

"Why?" asked Remus as Evans flounced into the chair that stood beside his bed. 

"Because I'm Muggleborn," she said, looking at him curiously. 

"Oh. I didn't know." 

"What about you?" she asked. 

"Might as well be," he found himself telling her. "Dad's a wizard, but he hardly uses any magic at home, and we -- don't get out much. My sister and I grew up practically Muggle." 

"Do you miss them?" she asked, sympathetically. 

"All the time," he admitted, burying his nose in his tea cup until the thought of his absent family had passed. 

She reached out and patted his arm. It was the first time someone other than Madam Pomfrey had touched him voluntarily in more than a month, and it made him feel a little bit funny inside. 

"I miss my family, too," Evans told him. "Especially my sister. She's older than me, but when we were little, we were best friends." She sighed. "It seems like, ever since I found out I was a witch, we've been growing apart." 

"I'm sorry," he said. "My sister's not magical either. At least, she hasn't showed it yet. She's only eight, so she still could." 

Evans smiled at him. She had a nice smile, despite the spots. "Are you close?" 

"Yeah. Natalie's -- sort of my only friend," he confessed. "I write to her all the time, but it's not the same." 

She gave him another sympathetic look. "I only really have one friend here," she told him. "Some of the girls in my dormitory are all right, I guess, but I'd be lost without Sev." 

"He's the boy you work with in Potions, right?" asked Remus. 

She smiled fondly. "Yeah. He's sort of prickly with other people, but we've been friends for ages. He was the first one to tell me about magic." 

"I'm rubbish at Potions," Remus admitted. "You both seem to do really well, though." 

"Oh, Sev's amazing!" she told him. "I'll never be as good as he is. I think I learn almost as much from him as from Professor Slughorn. But -- if you need help, maybe we could study together sometime." 

"Thanks," said Remus. "I think I'd like that."


	6. Gryffindors

Another breakfast came and went without any post for Sirius. It was only out of habit that he glanced up, searching the fluttering mass for Midnight's sleek, black feathers anymore. He had had one letter from his parents -- _one_ \-- expressing their disappointment at what Sirius had come to think of as his mis-Sorting, but they had not offered to take any steps in the matter. They had not even tried to tell him to make the best of a bad situation. There was no "best" to be made. 

Whether by his own choice, or by injunction of their parents, Regulus had not written to him at all. Sirius had kept his promise for the first few weeks, faithfully owling his brother, explaining what had happened, how it wasn't his fault, how everyone was being horrible, and he hated Hogwarts more than anything. But when September became October, and still there was no word, Sirius had stopped trying. What could he write, but the same misery and anger over and over again? What was the use? 

His family had abandoned him to his fate. His own cousin Narcissa would not speak to him, turning up her nose whenever she passed him in the corridors, and making snide comments to her friends about Gryffindor scum. 

The rest of the Slytherins were no better, and in fact, many were worse. The same children who had once curried his favour and pretended to be his friends now taunted him in the halls, at meals, in class, saying that they couldn't believe that some brainless, showoff Gryffindor had got away with pretending like he was better than them for so long. No one looked up to him. No one respected him. No one even liked him. 

Gryffindor tower became his refuge, the irony of which was not lost on Sirius. At least the other Gryffindors weren't likely to mock him for the House he had been Sorted into, little as they might care for him personally. He had certainly made himself no friends there -- not that he had tried. 

Even Peter, who had been friend enough -- or at least thick enough -- to follow him to his ignoble fate, had all but abandoned him for that grinning fool, James Potter. Nevermind that he himself had been planning to dump Peter if the other boy had been Sorted into Hufflepuff. If anything, that made it worse. Since when was Peter the one who got to pick and choose his friends? 

And what was so bloody great about Potter, anyway? Certainly he had money, and he came from good family -- blood-traitors, granted, but his blood was still almost as pure as Sirius's own -- and yet he didn't seem to give a toss about either of those things. All that dimwitted buffoon appeared to care about was having a laugh. He spent all of his time teasing and poking fun. Not like the Slytherins did, though; Potter treated everyone like they were in on the joke. 

Of his third roommate, Sirius had no idea what to make. It was hard to be annoyed with someone who never said anything, even if he was a Mudblood. Sirius would never have said so to anyone -- not that he said much of anything to anyone these days, anymore than Lupin did -- but he had been just the tiniest bit impressed by the Sticking charm, even if he had been forced to ask Potter for help retrieving his wand, which Potter, to his credit, had done, once he was able to stop laughing. 

Sirius had at first taken Lupin's quietness for weakness, or perhaps even fear, but now, he wasn't so sure. There was something odd about the boy, and no mistake. Twice now, he had disappeared from their dormitory overnight, and had missed classes the following day, returning in the evening looking tired and even more pale than usual. 

Sometimes, Lupin would spend classes furiously copying down notes, and mastering charms and defensive spells in minutes. On other days, he would stare into space, mind clearly elsewhere, and when called upon, would become too flustered to answer even the simplest questions. Just the other night, he had fallen asleep during Astronomy, right there on the cold stone of the turret. He was an enigma. Sirius couldn't help being a little bit intrigued. 

Sirius himself did well enough in his classes. He had a quick mind, but in consequence, was easily bored. Astronomy was his best subject -- no one else even came close -- but in Charms and Potions, he found himself competing with the Evans girl, and frequently coming off the worse. It stung him that a Muggleborn girl could best him in two subjects he should have dominated. Evans' half-blood friend Snape was even better at Potions than she was. It was bad enough that Potter was quicker than he was at Transfiguration. Still, he was at least close to the top of his class in all those subjects. 

Defence Against the Dark Arts was one class that Sirius had thought would interest him more. However, Professor Tynedale took a very dry, businesslike approach to the subject, insisting on spending one term on each of the three classes of defensive spells, and they wouldn't be covering the interesting ones until spring. Autumn term was devoted to protective magic, and so far as Sirius was concerned, one Shield charm was much like another. Instead, he would sneak peeks ahead in the textbook to the chapters on hexes. 

Even worse than Professor Tynedale's classes were Herbology and History of Magic. Plants were boring. Even if they weren't, old Professor Beery made them boring. Even Peter had a better Herbology mark than Sirius did. History of Magic might have been interesting in the right hands. Unfortunately, it had rested for a number of years -- or centuries, if the rumours could be believed -- in the translucent hands of ghostly Professor Binns, and he made the subject seem as dead as he was. Hardly anyone managed to stay awake in his classes, and Lupin and Evans were the only ones who bothered to take notes. 

Today, Professor Binns was droning on about one of the interminable and indistinguishable Goblin Rebellions. Sirius had parchment out on the desk in front of him, but his quill was engaged in doodling, rather than any more academic pursuit. He was deriving great satisfaction from his sketch of the Sorting Hat bursting into flames, and was just contemplating whether to draw Narcissa's head underneath it, when the bell rang, signaling the end of class for the afternoon. 

Professor Binns seemed not to notice, and went right on pointing out boring places on a map of eastern Europe, but the class began stowing away their quills and parchment. Sirius caught Potter glancing at his doodle. The other boy didn't say anything, but his expression spoke of mild annoyance. 

_Good,_ thought Sirius, who was frequently galled by Potter's grinning nonchalance. 

Exiting the classroom _en masse_ , they turned down the corridor that would take them back to Gryffindor tower. As they rounded the corner, Sirius groaned inwardly. He had forgotten. Again. 

Every Wednesday afternoon, the first year Gryffindors passed the first year Slytherins in the halls as they returned to their own dungeon common room from their last class. They never let an opportunity go by to direct their latest "witticisms" at Sirius. He had meant to find another route back to Gryffindor tower, but he kept forgetting. 

"Well, if it isn't Gryffindor Black!" sneered Evan Rosier. "Changed your name to 'Godric' yet?" 

"Shut up, Rosier!" snarled Sirius. 

"Haven't you heard?" Rosier smirked. "No one takes orders from you anymore, Black. You're nothing but a pathetic Gryffindor now. Might as well find yourself a Muggleborn girlfriend and have done with it." 

The other Slytherins laughed. A few of the Gryffindors edged past, shooting them looks of undisguised dislike. Lupin and Evans looked at one another, shrugged, and turned away, heads bent in mutual discussion over their History of Magic notes. Peter stood nervously a little way up the corridor, unwilling either to become involved in the confrontation or to abandon Sirius entirely. Potter slouched against the wall, watching, as if merely curious to see what would happen next. 

What happened was that Sirius drew his wand and pointed it at Rosier's sneering face. 

"Take it back!" he yelled. 

"Or what?" said Rosier. "You'll disarm me? Gryffindors are supposed to be so brave, but everyone knows they don't have the guts for real hexes. You're one of _them_ now, Scum. I'm not afraid of you." 

Sirius's mind was buzzing with rage. He couldn't think of a single hex. They were all laughing at him, daring him, and he was about to be utterly, utterly humiliated in front of the very people who should have been grateful for his good opinion. 

A hand grabbed his wrist, jerking at his wand arm. 

"No one talks to my Gryffindor brothers like that!" shouted James Potter, and Sirius found himself being dragged bodily away down the corridor, Slytherin laughter ringing in his ears. 

"What'd you do that for?!" demanded Sirius as the other boy propelled him down a side passage. 

"Maybe you didn't see," said Potter between clenched teeth, hand still clamped around Sirius's arm, "but three of them were getting ready to hex you while Rosier had you distracted. You should thank me." 

There was movement at the entrance to the passage, and both boys glanced up to see Peter hovering there. 

"Go away, Peter," Potter said grimly. "I need to talk to Black." 

Peter fled. Potter let go of Sirius's arm and shoved him sharply against the wall. 

" _Oi!_ " yelled Sirius, indignant. 

"Shut up, Black," Potter blazed. "I've bloody well had it up to here with those tossers always thinking they're better than everyone else. And I'm bloody sick of you acting like they're right." 

Sirius was mildly stunned. In almost two months of acquaintance, he had never seen Potter display any kind of temper. 

The boy glared at him. "You may not like it, but you're a Gryffindor now, Black. Better get used to it. You can't slide by on money and blood-status anymore; you have to prove yourself like the rest of us. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to wipe the sneers off their stupid Slytherin faces." 

"But --" 

Potter shook his head. "It's done. There's no going back to how things were. So what're you going to do about it?" 

Sirius licked his lips. "Dunno," he mumbled. 

"Are you going to spend the rest of your life sulking?" asked Potter. "Or are you going to show those tossers what a Gryffindor can do?" 

Sirius stared. "What d'you mean?" 

A slow grin spread across Potter's face. "Revenge, Black. Are you in or not?" 

Sirius couldn't help it. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Maybe." 

"Right," said James Potter. "Here's what we're going to do ...." 

* * *

"I hate house-elves," Sirius said for the hundredth time. 

"How many house-elves have you met?" asked James curiously. They had been friends for three days, and he was "James" now. 

"Well, one," admitted Sirius. "We've got one at home, and he's a right little --" 

"So, what you're saying is that you hate one house-elf," James said reasonably. "That's like saying you hate Every-Flavour Beans because you've only ever had the bogie-flavoured ones. House-elves are dead useful." 

They were making their way through the darkened corridors of the school, taking the long way to the Hogwarts kitchens, to avoid the elderly caretaker, Apollyon Pringle. If they were caught, it would mean detention, but James apparently had it on good authority that Pringle's patrols of the school were as regular as clockwork, making him easy to elude if one took proper care. 

"How d'you know there's house-elves?" asked Peter. 

Sirius wrinkled his nose in scorn. "Who d'you think takes care of this place and cooks your meals and washes your robes? Pringle? The ghosts?" 

Peter shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I thought they did everything here with magic." 

"They do," said James, without Sirius's scornful tone. "It's just that 'they' are house-elves." 

Sirius wouldn't have chosen to bring Peter along for the caper. This was his and James's plan, after all, and he had liked the idea of it being just the two of them in on the joke. But when they had left their dormitory at midnight, Peter had asked where they were going. 

"Adventuring," James told him with a grin. "Want to come along?" 

Lupin, who was lounging on his bed, reading another one of his Muggle books -- as if that was any way to spend a Saturday night -- had glanced up at them, shaken his head reproachfully, and gone back to his reading. 

"The Hogwarts house-elves are dead nice," James told the other boys. "They love working here, and they'll do anything for anyone who treats them halfway decent." He shot Sirius a warning look. "Be nice, or keep your mouth shut." 

This was clearly not the first time James had visited the Hogwarts kitchens, and Sirius strongly suspected it wasn't his first late-night excursion, either. He tried to keep track of all the twists and turns they took, but in the dark he became hopelessly confused, and had to trust that the other boy knew where he was going. 

They stopped at what appeared to be a dead end. James reached up to touch a painting that Sirius could only dimly make out in the darkness, and it swung wide. Light and sound spilled out from a cavernous, bustling space into the corridor that had been dark and silent a moment before. And the smells! Sirius caught the aromas of a dozen different dishes being prepared, each more delicious than the next. 

A house-elf, who appeared to be wearing an outfit made up of half a dozen brightly-coloured tea towels knotted together, hurried towards them, beaming. 

"All right, Snootles?" James greeted her with an easy grin. 

"James Potter has brought his friends to meet Snootles!" the elf squeaked. "Will you be wanting tea and cakes, Sir?" 

"That sounds great," James assured the elf. "Snootles, I'd like you to meet Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew." 

The elf curtsied. "Snootles is pleased to meet any friend of James Potter." 

"Are you lot already working on the Halloween feast?" James asked, looking around. 

"Oh, for many days now!" The elf nodded vigorously. "Much preparation is needed for so important an occasion. We has only got a few more hours until it is served. Not a single elf will be sleeping in Hogwarts castle tonight, James Potter." 

James flashed her another grin. "It smells great," he assured her. "What're we having?" 

Two more elves arrived just then, carrying a silver tray bearing three teacups and a plate of cakes. The boys helped themselves, then followed Snootles on a guided tour of the next night's feast. Sirius had never seen so many pigs being roasted or cakes being iced. Just looking at the abundance made his mouth water with anticipation. 

They stopped by a huge cauldron of stew, and James peered into it, sniffing appreciatively. Even Sirius, who was watching for it, didn't see James add their "secret ingredient". 

_Good,_ he thought. _If I didn't notice, there's a good chance none of these little beasts did either._

They said their goodbyes soon after, and departed, pockets bulging with fresh-baked breadrolls. 

"Are you sure the potion won't affect house-elves?" Sirius asked James. 

"Positive," the other boy replied smugly. "House-elves eat different stuff than we do. A lot of the ingredients I put in are things they'll be used to. They shouldn't notice the difference at all." 

"If you're wrong, we'll never be able to show our faces in the kitchens again," Sirius warned. 

"I'm not wrong," said James. "Next stop: the Hogwarts laundry room." 

"Do you know where that is, too?" Peter asked admiringly. 

"Er --" replied James. "Sort of." 

In all fairness, they only got lost once, and there was a very close call when Pringle stepped suddenly into view at the far end of the corridor ahead of them, but they happened to be hidden by a particularly deep shadow at the time, and were able to duck into a doorway, holding their breath until he was gone. 

The laundry room, once found, was not quite so bustling as the kitchens, but Saturday was when most of the week's laundry was done, and many of the students had sent down their best robes to be cleaned and pressed before the feast. 

"I thought house-elves weren't supposed to touch clothes," Peter whispered as they peered in. 

"They can do laundry," James told him. "The clothes aren't really given to them; just sort of left out. It's not like anyone handed a house-elf their robes and said, 'here you go'." 

The elves in the laundry room were not quite so friendly or welcoming as Snootles had been. Unlike the kitchens, the boys had had to concoct a convincing reason for their visit. 

"I think I left my wand in my pocket," Sirius lied to the head laundry elf, who had introduced himself as Clunky. "Can I check?" 

"Which House?" asked the elf tersely. 

"Slytherin, if you please." Sirius tried on one of James's winning smiles. It seemed to go over well. 

"This way," said the elf. He led them to a large pile of black robes, lying crumpled on the stone floor. "Name?" 

Sirius hesitated only a moment. "Rosier. Evan Rosier." 

With a nod from the head elf, three others dived into the pile, rummaging and wriggling until it looked like the mass of black was alive. 

"Nittle had found them, Sir!" cried a muffled voice. There was a little more wriggling, and a set of robes was proudly presented to Sirius. 

"Thank you," he said, taking them from the elf, and making a show of rummaging through the pockets. "No, I guess it's not here. Well, if you find a wand in the wash, it's probably mine." 

"We shall be watching for it, Mr Rosier, Sir," Clunky assured him with a bow. "It shall come to no harm." 

"Glad to hear it," said Sirius, biting his lip to suppress a smile. "Well, good night, then." 

Once they were away and had turned a corner, Sirius burst into laughter. "Right in Rosier's pocket!" he crowed. " _Merlin!_ His will be the brightest of the lot!" 

James snorted. "We definitely won't be able to show our faces in there again after this. Hope it's worth it!" 

Peter looked back and forth between them, puzzled. "So, what exactly did you blokes do?" 

The two boys turned matching grins on him. "You'll see, mate," said James. "You'll see." 

* * *

Sirius was the first one up the following morning. "Come on," he moaned impatiently. "Let's go down to breakfast and see --" 

"When they catch you for whatever you lot did last night," Lupin said drily, "I hope you tell them I wasn't part of it." 

"Did you hear that?" Sirius said, turning to James. "He speaks in sentences! Who knew?" 

Lupin blushed and turned away from his laughing roommates, pulling on his robes. 

When they arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, it was already abuzz with giggles and whispers and heads craning towards the red faces at the Slytherin table for another look. 

Several of the Slytherins had opted to wear rumpled, stained robes that hadn't made it into the laundry the previous night, but a few had apparently had no other choice than to wear the lurid pink robes that had come back to them from the wash. 

"What a horrible colour," Lupin murmured. 

A delighted laugh burst from Peter's lips. "How'd you do it?" 

Sirius looked smug. "A potion with a dying charm added to it. I put it in a packet that would dissolve in the wash." 

"I think it rather suits them," said James, admiring Sirius's handiwork. "Lockhart looks almost pleased." 

"Oi! Narcissa!" Sirius shouted across the hall to his cousin. "I'd hex whoever told you that was your colour!" 

"C'mon," said James, punching him in the arm. "Let's get something to eat." 

* * *

By supper time, the Slytherins were in a foul humour, but they still had not managed to discover who was responsible for their ruined robes. As the Gryffindors arrived in the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, James laughed out loud. 

"Look at Dumbledore!" he said gleefully, nudging Sirius. 

The headmaster was seated in a high-backed chair at the centre of the staff table, beaming at the students, and dressed in the same ghastly shade of pink as half of the Slytherins. 

"Time for Phase Two," muttered Sirius. 

The three boys split up. James wandered casually down the Gryffindor table, every now and then pausing to greet someone, while Peter ran over to Hufflepuff. 

At the end of the Ravenclaw table, Sirius bent his head and whispered to the girl sitting there, "Don't eat the Slytherin Stew. Pass it on." 

"What?" said the girl, confused. 

"Trust me," Sirius told her. "You don't want the stew." 

Once he was confident that the message would be spread throughout Ravenclaw, Sirius glanced nervously up at the high table, where the Hogwarts staff were seated. He had volunteered for this, after all. Fortunately for him, the seat at the far right end of the table was occupied by Professor Celestria Lindsay, the Astronomy mistress. Sirius was a particular favourite of hers. 

"Professor Lindsay," he whispered, leaning close so as not to be overheard. 

She smiled at him. "Can I help you, Mr Black?" 

"I -- er -- just wanted to tell you," he mumbled. "The stew. It's -- ah -- probably better if you don't eat it." 

She gave him a suspicious look. 

"You'll -- er -- pass the message along?" He blinked as winsomely as he knew how. 

She nodded slowly. "I may be having a word with your head of House later, Black," she warned. 

"OK," he said. "Just so long as you don't eat the stew." 

He rejoined the others, who had found them seats at the Gryffindor table with a good view of the Slytherins. 

"I hope we're upwind," James whispered. 

Sirius grinned. 

When the food appeared, everyone dug in. Everyone except Sirius and James, that is. They absently loaded food onto their plates, but their posture was tense, waiting. 

A loud fart rent the air. It was followed by another, and another. 

Giggles echoed around the Great Hall. All eyes turned to the Slytherin table. 

"What the _hell_?!" shouted a Slytherin fifth year, interrupting himself with another burst of flatulence. 

Every time one of the Slytherins opened their mouths to speak, the result was the same. 

Peter fell off the bench, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. Evans looked mortified, but Sirius thought he saw Lupin hide a smile in his pumpkin juice. 

Gryffindor prefect Fabian Prewett and his twin brother Gideon pounded the table, roaring with laughter. 

"I always knew those Slytherins were full of hot air!" cried Gideon. 

"At least now we can smell them coming!" Fabian wheezed. 

The laughter continued for a long time before the Slytherins realised that the only way to control their unruly bodily functions was to keep their mouths clamped firmly shut. 

James hooked an elbow around Sirius's neck and yanked him down, mussing his hair with his other hand. "We are _brilliant_!" he declared. 

Sirius grinned. 

* * *

That night, back in their room, they burned Sirius's Slytherin scarf. Lupin claimed that the smoke was making his eyes water, and disappeared behind his bed hangings, but Peter stayed up to share in the pitcher of pumpkin juice that James and Sirius had smuggled up after the feast. 

"A toast!" declared Sirius, raising his goblet. "To Gryffindor. My House and my home. Better than stinking Slytherin any day! And to James Potter," he added with a grin, "who showed me the way." 

"To Gryffindor!" James and Peter shouted, clinking their goblets together. They all drank long and deep. 

A long time later, Peter snoring on the bed by their feet, James said, "You know something?" 

"Hmmm?" Sirius was lying with his hands folded behind his head, staring up at the canopy above his bed, contemplating the fact that he had never before had a friend -- or anyone, really -- whom he considered his equal. 

"We make a pretty good team," James sighed sleepily. "What say you, Black?" 

Sirius's mouth curled into a slow smile. "I think you may be right, Potter." 

"I almost always am," said James smugly.


	7. Prewett Protégés

James would be the first to tell anyone that he had a bit of an ego. Still, he was amazed by the change he seemed to have wrought in Sirius, turning the boy from a sulky snob to a fun-loving daredevil almost overnight. If he could manage that, then what couldn't he do? Not that Sirius didn't still have his moments of pure-blood elitism, but a kick under the table or a punch in the shoulder or a cry of "Oi, mate!" was usually enough to remind him to check his attitude. 

Once Sirius had accepted the olive branch James offered him, he proved to be a steadfast and loyal friend. A good thing, too, since it didn't take long for the Slytherins to find out who had pranked them. Without each other to watch their backs, they both might have wound up in St Mungo's Permanent Spell Damage ward within a week. 

"You should think about working on your Shield Charms," Lupin commented drily before disappearing yet again. 

James and Sirius had been called into the office of a very grim-faced Professor McGonagall the day after Halloween. 

"Professor Lindsay has informed me that you had some foreknowledge of the tainted stew at last night's feast, Mr Black," she said, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed. "When enquiries were made in the kitchens, a house-elf mentioned a visit from Mr Potter and his friends after hours the previous night. Investigation of the laundry room yielded similar results. The elves there insisted they had been visited by Mr Rosier from Slytherin House, but the descriptions did not match. What do you boys have to say for yourselves?" 

"Erm --" said Sirius. 

"Sorry?" said James. 

"Sorry!" McGonagall snorted. "That you were caught, no doubt. I have never known first year students to cause such mayhem! Never! And why you felt the need to drag poor Mr Pettigrew along with you is beyond me. I cannot imagine that he had anything to do with the matter." 

She looked back and forth between them, considering. They hung their heads, unrepentant, and bit their lips to keep from grinning. 

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," she said at last. "Each. And detention in the laundry room next Saturday until you manage to reverse the damage done to the Slytherin robes." 

James stared at her, dismayed. "But -- next Saturday is Quidditch! Gryffindor v Slytherin! We can't miss that!" 

"I'm sure the Gryffindor team will manage well enough without your support, Mr Potter," said McGonagall, unmoved. "And perhaps next time you will think twice about the consequences of your actions." 

* * *

"I can't believe she was heartless enough to make us miss the Quidditch," James grumbled, chucking another pink robe onto the pile under the mistrustful eyes of the laundry elves. 

"Yeah," said Sirius. "It would've been nice to see Gryffindor kick some Slytherin arse." 

"Nice?" James's tone was incredulous. "It's _Quidditch_ , Black! Gryffindor v Slytherin! It would only have been the highlight of my whole bloody year!" 

"Quidditch fan, are you?" Sirius asked, wrinkling his nose as he sorted through the pile of dirty laundry. 

"The Falmouth Falcons are ace! My mum takes me to see them all the time." James glanced at him curiously. "Why? Aren't you?" 

Sirius shrugged. "I've only been to a couple of matches. Mother and Father think it's 'common'. We went to the World Cup a few times, which was pretty brilliant, but we were mostly there so people would see us in the Top Box." 

James whistled. "I'd give my Nimbus for Top Box seats at the World Cup!" 

"You have a Nimbus 1000?" asked Sirius enviously. 

"Yeah," James grinned. "Wasn't allowed to bring it, though, was I? Stupid first year rule." 

Sirius pointed his wand at the robe he was holding up and tried the Dying charm he had used to augment his original potion. The robe turned from pink to aqua. 

"Father promised me a broom for my birthday if my marks were good," he said gloomily, "but I guess that's off now." 

"Sorry, mate," said James sympathetically. "It really stinks that they're so uptight about you being in Gryffindor." 

"Yeah," Sirius sighed. "I just wish Regs would write. It's not like him to --" 

There was a knock on the frame of the open laundry room door, and two tall, sandy-haired boys entered, distinguishable only by the prefect's badge one of them wore. 

"Mind if we join you?" asked Gideon Prewett with a grin. 

"It's been ages since we had detention," added his twin brother Fabian. "We've missed it so!" 

James's brows rose in surprise. "Is the Quidditch over already? Who won?" 

"Nah," said Fabian, prodding the pile of pink robes with his toe. "We skipped the match." 

"To visit the laundry room?" asked Sirius. 

Gideon grinned. "Quidditch means there's no one in the school. Which makes it a great time to do a little investigating." 

"And today," Fabian continued, "we're investigating the mystery of the pink robes. I take it the two of you were responsible?" 

James and Sirius grinned and nodded. The popular Prewett brothers were well-known pranksters themselves, and James felt it was something of an honour to have attracted their notice. 

"They're saying it was you who did the Slytherin stew as well," Gideon said, looking back and forth between the two first years for confirmation. 

"It was James's idea," Sirius told them. 

"But Sirius helped with the potion," volunteered James. 

Gideon whistled, impressed. "Some of them are only just now getting over it. I can't believe a couple of first years pulled off something as inspired as that! You two are all right!" 

James and Sirius grinned wider than ever. The house-elves were shooting them disapproving looks and grumbling about work to be done, but the boys didn't care. 

Fabian picked up a pink robe between thumb and forefinger. " _Atratus_." The fabric shivered and turned black. "We've been thinking --" 

"-- me and Fabian --" added Gideon, picking up a second robe and performing the blackening charm himself. 

"-- we've only got a couple of years left in these hallowed halls --" Fabian went on. 

"-- and it seems like such a waste to let everything we've learned --" 

"-- pass back into obscurity --" 

"-- once we've gone." 

"So I said to my brother Gideon, here --" 

" -- he said, 'Gideon, what we really need --" 

"-- are one or two promising young protégés to continue our work.'" 

"And I said, 'But Fabian, most first years are complete rubbish --'" 

"'-- too terrified of the professors to appreciate how delightfully bendy the rules are.'" 

"We were worried, you see --" 

"-- that we might have to pass our knowledge on --" 

"-- beyond the hallowed walls of Gryffindor tower." 

"But when we learned that a couple of first year Gryffindors were responsible for the farting Slytherins --" 

"-- and just now that you did the robes as well --" 

"-- our hearts swelled with pride, and we knew that our prayers had been answered." 

"What do you say, lads?" asked Gideon. 

James glanced at Sirius, wondering if his own eyes were as round as his friends'. The secrets of Hogwarts -- five years of accumulated knowledge about the school, the professors, their fellow students, not to mention a wealth of potential pranks and hexes -- offered up to them on a proverbial silver platter. 

He fell to his knees, grinning and bowing down at the feet of the Prewett brothers, amidst the pile of pink robes. "Teach us, O Masters of Mischief!" 

The older boys looked at Sirius. "What about you, Black?" 

Sirius grinned and inclined his head towards James. "What he said." 

Hands were shaken then, and the Atratus charm was taught, and in moments all four of them merrily re-blackening the Slytherin robes. 

"So," James couldn't help asking, "what have you learned that's been was worth missing Quidditch for?" 

"Oh, many things," Gideon said, smiling mysteriously. 

"We learned that there's a colony of Acromantula -- giant spiders, you know -- living in the Forbidden Forest," said Fabian. 

"And that Amelia Bones from Hufflepuff has bred a strain of magical weed so good that some of the professors buy from her. Maybe even Dumbledore." 

"That Professor Flitwick writes steamy romance novels in his spare time, and publishes under the name Isabella Westwick." 

"That Ludo Bagman doesn't care if he fails all his classes and his NEWTs this year because he's already signed a contract with the Wimbourne Wasps," said Gideon. "He's only staying on to the end of the Quidditch season to help Slytherin win the Quidditch cup." 

"And," finished Fabian, giving Sirius a wink, "that Lucius Malfoy finally managed to pry your cousin's knees apart while everyone was in Hogsmeade last weekend." 

"No!" said Sirius, looking shocked. "Narcissa'd never --" 

"Only think," grinned Gideon, "if you'd made your stew just a couple of days sooner, you might have preserved her virtue!" 

"Oh, Lucius!" said Fabian in a ridiculous falsetto. "That feels so --" He blew a long, juicy raspberry. 

James and Sirius collapsed onto the pile of blackened robes in a storm of laughter. 

"I am going to write to my parents tonight and tell them!" Sirius declared. "Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella, too. Let Narcissa see what it feels like to be in disgrace." 

James clapped him on the shoulder. "You can borrow Quaffle," he offered. Quaffle was the very ruffled-looking owl that had been in James's family for years, so called because he had to be chucked through the air in order to get him to fly. James's parents had bequeathed Quaffle to him when he started school, and got themselves a new owl. 

"Anything you're supposed to do besides fix the robes?" asked Gideon, looking around. 

"Don't think so," said James, dropping the last one onto the pile. 

"C'mon, then," said Gideon. "We'll show you a couple of things we've been working on." 

"What d'you mean, 'working on'?" asked Sirius as they headed back up to Gryffindor tower. 

"We're not just investigators," Fabian explained. "We're inventors, too." 

"Modesty is not one of my brother's virtues," Gideon asided. 

"Oh, as if it's one of yours!" Fabian rolled his eyes. 

Gideon ignored him. "We have a nephew who'll be a year old this month. We're working on something for his birthday. Dragon Bogies." 

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open to admit them to the common room, which was empty except for Lupin and Evans, who appeared to be studying. On a Saturday. When there was Quidditch happening. As far as James was concerned, this went against all that was right and natural. 

"What're you doing here?" he asked rudely as the Prewetts disappeared up the stairs to their room to retrieve their "invention". 

The girl looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "We're getting caught up on History of Magic." 

"Boring!" declared Sirius, rolling his eyes. 

"Clear out," James told them. "That's what the library's for." 

"It's our common room, too, Potter," bristled Evans, rising to her feet. 

Lupin rose, too, and put a hand on her arm. "C'mon, Lily," he said quietly. "We won't get anything done with this lot in here." 

She sighed. "Probably true. Library?" 

They gathered up their books and parchment and departed, Evans shooting looks of annoyance at James and Sirius, Lupin keeping his eyes on the floor. 

"Hey, Lupin!" Sirius called as the two exited the portrait hole. "Maybe you should ask Dumbledore if he'll transfer you to the girls' dormitory, since you like them so much!" 

There was no response but the closing of the door. 

"What a couple of boring, swotty _girls_ ," said Sirius, disgusted. "Studying all the bloody time." 

"Yeah," said James, flopping down onto the recently vacated sofa. "Who can be bothered?" 

"Guess they're just not as clever as we are." Sirius slumped down beside him. 

"Well," James allowed, "not everyone can be brilliant. Mind you, if I manage to pass History of Magic, I may just have to run starkers through the entrance hall with my pants on my head." 

Sirius grinned. "Better you than me, mate. But I'll be there to show my support." 

Gideon and Fabian returned then, proudly bearing their creations. For their nephew Billy's birthday, they had made a tiny blue onsie. 

"Watch this," said Gideon, eyes twinkling. 

He tipped a glass of water he had brought down with him onto the fabric. Immediately, words appeared across the front of the garment: "Change Me!" 

"It picks up on the baby's mood and needs," explained Fabian. "It also does, 'Feed Me', 'Sleepy', 'Pay Attention' and 'Playtime'." 

"That's brilliant," said Sirius. 

"You could sell that," commented James. 

Gideon grinned. "Don't think we haven't thought about it." 

"Is your sister the Molly Prewett who ran off with that blood-traitor?" asked Sirius. 

James kicked him sharply in the shin. "He's sorry," he informed the Prewetts, narrowing his eyes at his friend. "Sometimes his brain forgets to remind his mouth that he's a Gryffindor now." 

"Er -- yeah," mumbled Sirius, blushing. "Sorry." 

Fabian shook his head, grinning. "Arthur's great. Really, Molly couldn't have chosen a better bloke. But he's utterly mad! Loves everything to do with Muggles. You should see the collections he's got. Sparkplugs and fuses and things." 

James, who had no idea what a sparkplug might be, merely nodded. 

"I still can't believe Dad was planning to sell her to the Malfoys," Gideon said, looking as if the thought still upset him. But then he grinned, too. "As soon as she found out, she jumped the broom and got herself up the duff so fast, Arthur never knew what hit him! Dad went spare, but what could he do?" 

Fabian laughed. "I think Mum was pleased, though." He reached down beside his chair and set a second, larger object on the table in front of them. 

"Wow," breathed James, reaching out a hand to touch it. 

It was a clock of startling art and intricacy. But instead of showing the time, the points around the face said things like "Home" and "Work" and "School" and -- somewhat alarmingly -- "Mortal Peril". It also bore more than the standard number of hands, each with a small portrait at the end. James recognised Gideon and Fabian's pictures, and assumed the redheaded man, woman and baby in the other three were the twins' sister and her family. 

"Did you really make this?" he asked, awed. 

Twins beamed with pride. 

"Does it really work?" asked Sirius, prodding one of the hands experimentally. 

"Mostly," admitted Gideon. "We haven't quite worked out all the kinks yet, but as you can see, all three of them are showing up as 'Home', while ours are pointing to 'School', which is right for a Saturday afternoon." 

"We're working on getting it to automatically generate new hands," said Fabian. "Molly's always wanted kids, and it would be nice if it could update itself without having to be taken apart." 

"She worries, does our sister," Gideon explained. "Always wants to make sure she knows where everyone is. We just thought it would be nice for her to have a way to keep track of the people who matter." 

"That's a really clever bit of magic," said James, impressed. "Nice of you, too." 

"Well, it's not completely selfless," Fabian chuckled. "Not if it keeps her from fussing at us when we go more than a week without writing." 

Gideon leaned towards the younger boys earnestly. "See, the thing is, you can do almost anything with magic. Anything you can think of, there's probably a way. You just have to find it. Think of all the books in the library. How many spells and potions are in there? And more are being invented all the time. I'm guessing the ones you used on the robes and the stew weren't straight out of any book?" 

James shook his head. He had spent hours poring over his Potions textbook, noting all the ones that listed flatulence as a side effect, and cross-referencing which ingredients they had in common. Sirius, he knew, had augmented a standard Dying potion with a charm to boost its strength. 

Fabian grinned. "You're inventors, too. Imagine the possibilities. If you've got the nerve for it, you could be legends." 

* * *

Peter knew he should have been pleased that the two boys he admired most were friends now, but all he felt was left behind. In class, when partners were required, it was always James and Sirius now. Partnering with Lupin would have been all right, he supposed, but he was friends with Evans, and they worked together in every class except Potions, which she spent with her Slytherin friend, Snape. Since Peter was almost as bad at Potions as Lupin was, this was a less than satisfactory arrangement. The rest of the time, he found himself partnered with girls, and while Peter liked girls in a theoretical sort of way, he was also a little bit terrified of them. 

And today, which should have been fun -- should have been _brilliant_ \-- watching Gryffindor play Slytherin at Quidditch, despite Gryffindor losing by two hundred points to thirty, had been rather lacklustre. James and Sirius had spent the match in detention, and Peter had spent it sitting by himself, surrounded by people he felt too shy to talk to. By rights, Peter should have had detention as well. After all, he had been with James and Sirius when they had planted their potions, and he was just the tiniest bit disappointed that no one thought him capable of that kind of mischief. 

To make matters worse, when he arrived back in the Gryffindor common room following the match, he felt somehow like he had been the one who had missed out. The two dark heads of his friends were bent in close conversation with the popular Prewett twins, and it took them a few moments to notice he was there. 

"Hey, Pete," was all he got from James, and a small nod from Sirius. They did not bother to introduce him to their new friends, nor did the older boys do more than glance in his direction. 

At supper that evening, James and Sirius sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, near the doors into the entrance hall, with the Prewetts. Peter sat next to them, but not really with them, since he wasn't included in their conversation. Lupin, as usual, sat halfway down the table with Evans. So Peter listened in to the animated conversation going on to his left, eyes on his plate, and felt alone. 

"You lads want to see something cool tonight?" asked Fabian in a low voice. 

James and Sirius leaned in, interested. 

"You know how the seventh floor north wing isn't really in use?" Fabian continued, and they nodded. "Well, there's this painting up there. Pretty girl with her kit off." 

"Fabian," his brother admonished. "Leave Greta alone." 

Fabian ignored his brother. "She's usually pretty shy and demure, but she's taken a shine to our Gideon, and she gets a bit bolder when he's around. What d'you think?" 

Sirius glanced at James and shrugged. 

"Worth a look, I suppose," said James. 

_Definitely,_ thought Peter moodily. _You'd think they'd invite a mate along to see a nice pair of tits. No charitable spirit, those two._

Even once they were all back in their dormitory after the meal, it was no better. In the absence of any Slytherins to antagonise, James and Sirius often turned their teasing on Peter. 

When he attempted and failed miserably at the Floating charm they had learned the previous Thursday, Sirius chanted in a singsong voice, " _Peter at all magic mings! Peter, worst at everything!_ " 

"Am not!" Peter declared hotly as James giggled at Sirius's wit. "I'm better than you at Herbology, and I'm better at Potions than Lupin." 

Lupin, reclining on his bed, gave Peter a Look over the top of the book he was reading, but forbore to comment. 

"Well, who isn't?" said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "The giant squid is better at Potions than Lupin!" 

He drew his wand and sent a string of little pinching hexes at Peter. 

"Stop it!" Peter wailed, flailing at the invisible fingers that nipped at his arms and legs, fully aware of how pathetic he sounded. "Leave it out, Sirius!" 

Sirius and James only laughed, but Lupin set down his book and sat up, glancing meaningfully from Sirius's wand to the ceiling. 

"Not a chance, Lupin!" Sirius said. "You won't catch me out like that twice." 

Lupin shrugged, drew his wand, and pointed it at Peter instead. " _Protego_." 

Instantly, a bubble appeared around Peter, warding off Sirius's pinches. 

"Basic Shield Charm," Lupin informed Peter. "You might want to work on it." 

James and Sirius, looking disgusted, got out a deck of cards and began to play Exploding Snap to while away the time until their appointment with the Prewetts for late-night shenanigans. 

"Thanks," Peter mumbled uncomfortably. 

"'S OK," Lupin replied, turning back to his book. 

Peter opened his Charms book, pretending to read, but continued to covertly watch and listen to his roommates. Secretly, he rather admired the way Lupin didn't care what the others thought of him. _I wish I could be more like that,_ he thought wistfully. His problem was that he cared too bloody much what the others thought, which was why he never stood up to James or Sirius for himself, even when he knew he should. More than anything, he wanted to find some way to impress his clever friends. 

Midnight approached, and James and Sirius pulled on their outer robes once more. 

"Last time you lot snuck out, we lost forty points," Lupin reminded them. 

James only shrugged. "They were mine to lose. I'd earned thirty already." 

"You keep track of your House points?" Sirius asked, pausing in the midst of lacing his shoes. 

"Sure," said James. "So long as I never lose more than I earn, I come out ahead." 

Lupin looked pained. He had never lost a single House point, so far as Peter knew, though he had gained several through his performance in class. Peter had gained exactly five points for one especially good day in Herbology, but even his previous late-night escapade had not lost him any. 

"Are House points really that important?" asked Sirius, who had yet to earn Gryffindor even a single point. "I mean, what d'you really get out of it?" 

James grinned. "Mostly just the satisfaction of beating Slytherin out of the House cup. Isn't that a worthy cause?" 

Sirius allowed that it was, and then they were gone, tiptoeing down the spiral staircase. Peter waited for a count of ten, and then followed them. He heard Lupin sigh as he closed the door. 

* * *

The girl in the painting had been pretty enough, James supposed, but now that he was beginning to be old enough to think about such things, he wasn't sure he cared all that much for blondes. Still, the rest of her had been nice to look at. 

As the four of them slunk through the corridors afterwards, twisting and turning to avoid Pringle and Peeves, Hogwarts' resident poltergeist, James asked what the Prewetts were planning to investigate this year. 

"Well," said Gideon thoughtfully. "We've always wondered why the Bloody Baron is bloody." 

"Whether the Defence Against the Dark Arts job is really cursed," Fabian nominated. 

"If there's any truth to the rumours about Dumbledore and Grindelwald," suggested Gideon. 

"What rumours?" asked James. Grindelwald, to him, was a name from a Chocolate Frog card -- a name that went in one ear and out the other in History of Magic. 

"That they were friends," said Fabian delicately. 

"More than friends," Gideon added, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Dumbledore's a poof?" Sirius sounded sceptical. 

Fabian shrugged. "No one seems to know for sure. He's certainly never been married, and he hasn't got any kids. If he'd had a boyfriend when he was young who turned out to be evil and broke his heart, it would kind of make sense." 

James snorted at the thought of Dumbledore having a boyfriend. It was almost as absurd as the idea of Dumbledore being young. It simply defied the imagination. "How could you prove it?" he asked. "Unless you were thinking of asking Dumble --" 

James broke off, yanked sideways by one of the twins as they dodged into an alcove to avoid Peeves, who had popped through a wall not twenty paces away, fortunately facing the wrong direction. 

"And for years," Gideon whispered, "we've been trying to find a surefire way to get Peeves to leave us alone." 

"Not sure that one's possible," mumbled Fabian, peering around the corner. 

After a tense couple of minutes, Peeves vanished through another wall, off to create mayhem elsewhere, and the four continued on their way. 

"Where are we going?" asked Sirius, who, like James, had just noticed that even by the most circuitous route, they were patently not headed back to Gryffindor tower. 

"To discover the truth behind one of the great legends of Hogwarts," said Gideon, hazel eyes sparkling. "Whether Professor Slughorn's liquor cabinet lives up to its reputation." 

James and Sirius's eyes went round. 

"You get one sip each," warned Fabian. "I am not getting puked on by a couple of first years, nor am I carrying you back to Gryffindor tower." 

Sirius giggled and confessed to sampling his father's firewhiskey once or twice. 

James, who had never been allowed to try hard liquor shook his head, laughing. "How do you blokes find time to do your schoolwork?" 

"It's not all fun and games." Fabian's brows drew together, suddenly serious. "There's stuff going on out there --" he waved vaguely to encompass the world beyond the castle walls "-- and we're going to need to be ready for it." 

"What kind of stuff?" asked James, dubious of the idea that the world of grownups could be anything other than deadly dull. 

"Voldemort," said Gideon, spitting the name out as if it tasted bad. 

"Who?" Sirius asked. 

Fabian rolled his eyes. "Don't you two read the papers?" 

"We're eleven," James reminded him. "Did you?" 

"Fair enough," Fabian acknowledged. "But you should. And you should be practising defensive magic every chance you get. Because there's stuff coming, and you need to be ready." 

"So educate us," said Sirius. "Who's Voldemort?" 

Gideon shook his head. "No one knows, really. It's not his real name, and no one has any idea where he comes from or who his family are, but it's odds on he's a pure-blood, since that's all he talks about." 

"He's all about how the pure-bloods are the elite, and should have all kinds of rights and privileges over everyone else," said Fabian. 

"So?" said Sirius. "A lot of pure-bloods think that. My parents do." 

"That's true," said Fabian. "And that's the danger of it. He's subtle, right? He's got this set of beliefs that looks like a lot of other people's, and people are listening to him because he's clever and charismatic. But he takes it a step or two further." 

"Right," continued Gideon. "While plenty of pure-bloods act like they're something special and talk about how everyone else is scum, and wouldn't the world be better off without them, he's actually got plans to do something about it." 

"He says pure-bloods should marry young and have as many children as possible," said Fabian, glancing around a corner before ushering them down a set of rickety wooden steps. "And he talks about how half-bloods and Muggleborns should be sterilised to keep them from 'polluting' the magical gene pool." 

Gideon wrinkled his nose in disgust. "He believes laws protecting Muggles should be repealed, since they restrict the right of pure-bloods to use magic as they please. He's even been heard to mention Muggle extermination programmes." 

"And," added Fabian, "he thinks that pure-blood children should be taken away from blood-traitor parents, and placed with 'proper' families, so that any Mugglish sympathies can be 'educated' out of them as early as possible." 

"That's a bit creepy," Sirius admitted. "But isn't he sort of right that pure-bloods should be having more children? I mean, there's not that many wizards out there. Couldn't we use a few more?" 

Gideon whistled. "You really have been indoctrinated, haven't you? I think a lesson in Wizarding genetics is in order, Fabe." 

Fabian put out a hand to halt them. "Pringle will be along in a minute. Let's wait around the corner." 

Once they were safely concealed behind a tapestry, Fabian turned to the two younger boys. 

"It's like this," he began in a whisper. "There's what? About fifty witches and wizards born in Britain every year, right? And that includes half-bloods and Muggleborns. There's maybe fifteen pure-bloods born each year, and by 'pure-blood', I mean no Muggles for four generations. The more you breed magical blood with itself, the weaker it becomes. The purer the blood, the fewer children a couple is likely to have. Without regular infusions of Muggle blood in the gene pool, wizards would just become more and more inbred, and eventually die out altogether." 

"Oh." James had sometimes wondered why he had no siblings, and why his parents had had him so late in life. He had thought maybe he was an accident, but perhaps this was the real reason. 

"Genetic reasons aside," said Gideon, "it's stupid to try to keep half-bloods and Muggleborns from developing their magical abilities. For one thing, uncontrolled magic is really dangerous, and for another, there's no evidence that pure-bloods are any better at magic than anyone else who has it. How many important magical advances have been made by Muggleborns in the last century? How many by pure-bloods? You've got Muggleborns to thank for everything from racing broom technology to Wizarding medicine. Are you going to refuse to take a lifesaving potion just because it was invented or mixed by a half-blood? I don't think so." 

"My mother might," mused Sirius. 

Fabian grinned. "And that, my young friend, is why people with open minds are going to outlast those with backwards ideas every time. I think Pringle must have been and gone by now," he added, stepping back into the corridor. 

"The point is," said Gideon as they continued towards Slughorn's rooms, "we're doing everything we can to be ready to face Voldemort and his lot once we get out of here. Defence Against the Dark Arts is key, but the other stuff we do -- intelligence gathering -- will be a big help when we start our Auror training." 

"You're going to be Aurors?" asked Sirius, awed. There was a certain glamour to being a Dark wizard catcher to which young boys were particularly susceptible. 

"I think I've heard my dad mention Voldemort," said James casually. "He's an Auror, too, and I think he said something about his department keeping an eye out for 'suspicious activity'." 

Sirius stared at him, openmouthed. "Your dad's an Auror? That's so cool!" 

James grinned, accepting the reflected glow of his father's status. 

"You must be Joe Potter's son," said Gideon. "Your dad's really senior in the department." 

"You -- er -- think you might put in a good word for us?" asked Fabian a little shyly. 

"Maybe so," said James, still grinning. 

" _Shit!_ " Gideon muttered, peering around the next corner, then quickly ducking back. "Pringle's late on his rounds. He's headed this way." 

* * *

Peter kept to the shadows, tailing the four boys in their meanderings as closely as he dared. He slunk from doorway to doorway, from alcove to tapestry, never letting them out of his sight for fear he would become hopelessly lost. The painting of the naked girl had been nice enough, but he wished he had had a chance to inspect it a little more closely. He doubted he could find it again on his own. 

As he made his silent way on cold, bare feet, he caught little snatches of the other boys' conversation, but not enough to make sense of it. But when one of the twins muttered, " _Shit!_ Pringle's ..." he heard that clear enough. The boys were shuffling back down the corridor towards the shadowed doorway that was his own hiding place, and Peter had only seconds to decide what do to. 

_Your innocent face saved you once already,_ he reminded himself. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter stepped out into the corridor and hurried past the four startled boys, not looking at them. He turned the corner directly into the path of Apollyon Pringle, the elderly Hogwarts caretaker. 

"Eh?" said Pringle. "Wot's this?" 

"I'm sorry, Mr Pringle, Sir." Peter did not have to fake the tremulous tone in his voice. "I woke up in the hospital wing, and I got lost trying to find my way back to Gryffindor. Can you help me?" He blinked innocently. 

The caretaker considered him for a moment. "I'll be passin' that way in about fifteen minutes, if you care to follow." 

"Thank you, Sir," said Peter meekly. 

When he arrived back in his dormitory, James and Sirius were already there, waiting for him on James's bed. Peter climbed up beside them. 

"That was pretty cool of you," James whispered, patting him on the shoulder. Lupin's drapes were shut, and he was probably asleep long since. "Neither of us could have got away with it." 

Sirius shook his head in agreement. "Thanks, Pete. We owe you one." 

Peter screwed up his courage for the second time that night. "D'you -- d'you think maybe I could come along next time?" 

James and Sirius looked at one another and shrugged. 

"Don't see why not," said James. "Seems to me you could be dead useful to have around." 

Peter grinned and leaned back against the pillows, basking in the other boys' acceptance as they continued the conversation begun before he came in. He wasn't a part of it, but somehow, he didn't feel like he was apart from it, either, anymore. 

"All that stuff about Voldemort was a lot more interesting than some old naked painting," Sirius said. 

"Sure," snorted James. "But I bet Voldemort's tits aren't as nice as hers."


	8. Trespassers Will Be Hexed

> _Dear Nat,_
> 
> _My roommates are driving me MAD. They don't ever study, and they're noisy and nosey and always losing House points for Gryffindor. I have to pretend to go to sleep really early to get them to leave me alone. They keep borrowing my notes (and they don't even ask first) since it seems like they never take any themselves._
> 
> _Black (the sulky, nosey, stuck-up one, remember?) is friends with Potter (the goofy one) now, so he's not sulky anymore, just nosey and stuck-up. Now that they're friends, they're ganging up on Pettigrew (the nervous one) when they were both sort of friends with him before. That means I'm the one who has to step in when they cross the line. I hate it. I don't want them paying me any more attention than they would normally. But I can't just let it go, can I? Pettigrew is sort of pathetic, and he can't really defend himself._
> 
> _Everything's back to normal here since I wrote to you on Halloween. Well, as normal as it can be at a school for magic. You know how I told you last week about what Potter and Black did to the Slytherins? They've stopped farting now, and their robes are all black again. They're still really angry about it, though. I'm glad they don't think I had anything to do with it. It was kind of funny._
> 
> _Lily didn't think so. She's really clever (not as clever as you, of course, Sis) and I like her a lot. She didn't think much of the prank because her best friend is a Slytherin, and she was sort of embarrassed for him. I'm not sure what she sees in him. He's rude and nasty and unless you count sarcasm, he has even less of a sense of humour than Mum (don't tell her I said that). I study with them a lot in the library, but I think he wishes it was just the two of them._
> 
> _This week in class we've been learning how to make things fly, which I'm glad to say is going much better than when they try to make ME fly. I managed to float a feather on the first day! Well, not float, but it definitely moved. Lily was the only other one who could do it. Of course, by the third day, Potter and Black decided it would be funny to try floating Professor Flitwick, our Charms teacher. He's really tiny so it's not as hard as it sounds. It was pretty amazing how well he took it once he was back on the ground. I expected Gryffindor to lose about a thousand points, but he didn't take any at all. Lily didn't think that was funny either, but I kind of did. It wouldn't've been if we'd lost points._
> 
> _Tomorrow Lily and I are going hunting for potion ingredients on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I'm still rubbish at Potions. The smells in that classroom make me dizzy and give me headaches before the full moon, and make me sick to my stomach after. But Lily's been really nice about helping me, and I'm not completely ruining every single potion anymore. Doesn't sound so great when I say it like that, does it?_
> 
> _I miss you loads. Give my love to Mum and Dad, and write me back soon! I want to know all about how school's going for you, and what books you're reading._
> 
> _Your Affectionate Brother,_   
> _Remus_

* * *

His Defence Against the Dark Arts notes were missing. Again. Remus sat back on his heels and sighed. Just in case, he had checked twice, but if he was not able to lay hands on them immediately, there could be only one explanation, and that was Black. 

Pettigrew always asked first, and more often than not, Potter did, too. Black, though, had a bad habit of treating everything in their dormitory like his personal property, and for some reason this seemed to apply most especially to Remus's things. 

Remus wasn't sure why this should be, since Black -- though his attitude had improved remarkably since the instigation of his friendship with Potter -- still made occasional snide comments about the cheapness and worn state of Remus's possessions. He suspected that it was just Black's nature to push until he found out what the limits were. Since Black had known Pettigrew for some time, he already knew his limits, and Potter didn't appear to have any when it came to outrageous behaviour, which only left Remus. 

What Remus's limits were, even he was not certain. What would it take before he would tell Black to shove off? The last thing he wanted to do was make a scene, or draw attention to himself, but as long as he kept his mouth shut and his temper in check, it seemed that Black would just keep on encroaching. Only the other day, Remus had found him sprawled on Remus's own bed, reading one of his books. Since there was no imaginable way Black enjoyed Muggle fiction, Remus could only suppose that he was being deliberately maddening. 

"What're you looking for?" Black peered over the edge of his bed to where Remus was rummaging through his trunk. 

Remus didn't look up. "My Defence notes. Have you seen them?" 

"Probably." Black's voice was thoughtful. 

"What d'you mean 'probably'?" Remus asked, giving Black a narrow look. "Have you got them or not?" 

Black shrugged. "I had them earlier. Gave them to James." 

"So, Potter has them?" 

Another shrug. "Dunno. That was hours ago." 

Remus bit back his first half dozen responses to Black's goading and went with, "D'you think you could maybe ask next time before you borrow my things?" 

"You were asleep." 

"And you couldn't wait until I woke up? You needed to study that desperately?" 

Black flopped over on his back and let his head and shoulders hang off the bed, fingers brushing the floor. "I just wanted to see if you wrote down the name of that hex Tynedale mentioned -- the one for sticking someone's eyes shut? -- so I could look it up." 

The door opened and Potter and Pettigrew came in. 

"Have you got my Defence notes?" asked Remus without preamble. 

Black sat up. "You should've seen us just now, James!" he grinned. "Lupin and I had a whole conversation! Words and sentences and everything!" 

Potter swooned theatrically against the door, hand pressed to his brow. "An historic moment!" he declared, as Pettigrew giggled. 

Remus scowled. "Has anyone seen my Defence notes?" 

Potter rolled his eyes and pulled a crumpled and much-folded sheaf of parchment from the pocket of his robes. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Lupin. I've got them." 

Remus took a calming breath -- the notes were definitely the worse for wear -- and said, "Thanks. Just -- ask next time, OK?" 

"You hear that, Sirius?" said Potter. "Ask next time." And then they were giggling again. 

Remus spent a few minutes attempting to flatten out the worst of the creases in his notes, and then gave it up as a bad job. It was probably best if he just recopied them later. They were the notes for the previous Wednesday's class, which he had spent in the hospital wing, only borrowing and copying Lily's later in the week. Writing them up again might help make the lesson stick. 

Apparently his absence from Wednesday's classes had either gone unnoticed, or had already been forgotten by his roommates, which was fine with Remus. Lily was the only one who had asked where he had been, after prodding him awake when he had almost fallen asleep in Astronomy. He hated lying to her, but there was no help for that, and he had rather lamely mumbled his prepared line about his mother's supposed illness. He had been especially nervous of telling Lily, since, unlike his roommates, she might actually know things about Muggle illnesses, but she had been tactful and sympathetic, asking no further awkward questions. 

Remus was grateful for Lily. In some ways, she reminded him of his sister. He could breathe easier around her. He felt like he could trust her -- as much as he could trust anyone. And most importantly, she didn't drive him stark staring mad. 

With a last look from his ruined notes to his roommates, who had pounced on Pettigrew, and were tickling him mercilessly, making him shriek and squeal, Remus pulled on his winter cloak and scarf and went to keep his appointment with his friend. 

"I'm going to need to borrow your Defence notes again," he greeted her in the common room. 

"Potter?" she asked as they turned towards the portrait hole. "Or Black?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Both, this time. But mostly Black." 

She shook her head. "Someone needs to take them down a peg or two. They think they're so hilarious, when all they're doing is causing trouble for the rest of us. Do they take anything seriously?" 

"Meal times," Remus replied. "The Prewetts. Quidditch." 

"Maybe we could ask Fabian to talk to them," Lily said thoughtfully. "He's a prefect, after all. It's his job to keep order." 

Remus snorted. "Good luck with that." 

Halfway down the main staircase into the entrance hall, Remus caught sight of a bundled-up Severus Snape waiting at the castle doors. 

"You didn't say he was coming," said Snape by way of greeting, his usual scowl deepening. 

Remus, who had been thinking something similar, had the tact to keep his mouth shut. 

"I didn't say he wasn't, either," Lily said tartly. "Come on; we've only got an hour or two before dark." 

They walked down the grounds through the late autumn evening to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Lily carrying most of the conversation, telling Remus what she hoped to find, her friendly, cheerful chatter doing only so much to stem the tension between the boys who walked on either side of her. Remus conversed mainly in questions, and Snape was monosyllabic. Fortunately for Remus, the outing was more in the nature of Herbology than Potions, so he didn't feel quite such a dunce. 

It was the second week of November, and there was not much green left to be found in shade of the leafless trees. There were a few hardy, low-growing plants, and several sad, wilted yellow and brown things that were past identification. 

Snape was attempting to disentangle a vine from a large oak tree when Lily gave a cry of delight. "Cobalt caps!" 

She ducked into the treeline and began gathering the tiny, blue mushrooms, carefully depositing them in a cloth bag she had brought with her. Remus moved to join her, but Snape shoved him roughly back with a hand on his chest. 

"Leave her alone," he hissed in a low voice, black eyes glinting malice. "Just stay the hell away from her." 

"What?" Remus was more surprised than anything else. "Why? She doesn't belong to you." 

"There's where you're wrong," Snape snarled. "You and the others -- you're turning her into a Gryffindor -- turning her against me. She should've been a Slytherin." 

"Look, mate," Remus tried a conciliatory tone, "I'm sorry about the stunt my housemates pulled, but I had nothing to do with it. I promise you, no one is trying to turn Lily against you." 

"I am not your mate," hissed Snape, and just like that, his wand was in his hand. 

Remus held very still, warily regarding the wandpoint a few inches from his chest. He didn't know that much about Snape, except that he knew about a million hexes, and was not terribly stable. Not a good combination in Remus's present position. 

"Your Gryffindor friends need to watch their backs," Snape spat. "And that goes double for you, Lupin." 

"Sev?" called Lily's voice, and instantly the wand dropped into Snape's sleeve. "What're you doing?" 

"Nothing," Snape muttered. "Just talking." 

Lily looked to Remus, but he just shrugged. He knew how inexplicably fond of Snape Lily was, and he wasn't about to make a scene between the two friends. Remus would just have to keep his eyes open, and hope that, given time, Snape would see reason. 

* * *

After supper that evening, Remus settled down on his bed with his Herbology textbook, looking up the plants they had found that afternoon, and doing his best to memorise their Latin names and uses. He had already recopied Lily's Defence notes, but he wasn't sure how much of the information had sunk in, since his roommates were being especially noisy and distracting. Black was busy being loudly indignant about the letter he had just received from his parents. 

"Listen to this." He put on a high-pitched, snooty-sneery voice. "' _Allowing oneself to be made a Gryffindor is one thing, but circulating defamatory rumours concerning one's own family is something else entirely._ ' All I did was tell them Narcissa's a tart. They don't even believe me!" 

"There must be some way to prove it," said Potter, peering over Black's shoulder to read the rest of the letter. "Bloody hell, mate! Your own mum actually called you a blood-traitor?" 

Black flushed bright red and snatched the letter away from Potter's prying eyes. "She just said you lot were turning me into one," he mumbled. 

Potter polished his nails on his pyjamas and looked smug. "My work here is done." 

"Don't see how you could prove it," said Pettigrew. "Don't see how you could ever prove that sort of thing unless she got herself up the duff." 

Black scowled. "The Prewetts found out somehow. We could ask them." 

"Sure," chuckled Potter. "Defaming Slytherins is almost as much fun as turning the snooty heirs of pure-blood families into blood-traitors." 

Black pounced on him with a whoop, letter forgotten, and tried to force Potter's face into his armpit. "Take it back!" he cried, mock-outraged. "I am not snooty!" 

" _Glah!_ " gagged Potter. "You stink, Black! Even blood-traitors take showers, y'know." 

"Had one yesterday," Black said huffily. He let go of his friend and raised his arm for a critical sniff. "It's not that bad. Do I stink, Pete?" 

Pettigrew had time for more no more than a quick " _Urk!_ " before being grabbed by the collar of his pyjamas and forced into Black's other armpit. He struggled weakly and mumbled something unintelligible before Black let him out. 

"What was that?" 

"I said," repeated Pettigrew, looking distinctly red and rumpled, "'Let me out, it reeks in here'." 

"That's two to one, Black!" Potter hooted. 

"Hang on a sec," said Black. "I need another opinion." 

With a bounce, he landed in the middle of Remus's bed, narrowly missing his newly-copied Defence notes. Hastily putting the notes out of harm's way, Remus eyed the other boy warily. 

"Do I stink, Lupin?" Black asked. 

Unlike with Potter and Pettigrew, Black did not try to grab him to force the issue, for which Remus was grateful. Having been raised with a younger brother, Black had been instilled with a certain amount of casual physicality then it came to people he considered "his". His hands-off treatment of Remus meant that Black still considered him an outsider, but Remus had never cared much for being touched by people he wasn't comfortable around, and that still very much included all three of his roommates. 

"You're mad. You know that, right?" Remus told him. 

"Not what I asked," Black said, raising his arm, and leaning in closer than Remus cared for. 

Knowing full well that resisting Black's insane demands would only make the other boy more insistent, Remus obligingly raised his head and sniffed delicately. 

"Well?" demanded Black. 

If he was honest with himself, Black did not really smell all that bad. Heightened sense of smell being a side-effect of lycanthropy, Remus had grown used to recognising the people around him by scent, as much as by sight or sound. Black smelled of exuberant boy, sticky toffee pudding and toothpaste, none of which Remus found to be particularly offensive. 

He shrugged. "Not so you'd notice. I'm thinking of putting up a sign on my bed that says 'Trespassers Will Be Hexed'," he added conversationally. 

Black ignored the broad hint and turned back to the others, sticking out his tongue triumphantly. "Lupin doesn't think I stink." 

Potter rolled his eyes. "Lupin didn't have his conk smashed into your sweaty, nasty armpit." 

"No, sorry," said Black, putting up his hands. "The subject is closed. We're back to proving my cousin is a tart now." 

"Does sleeping with her boyfriend really make her a tart?" Remus couldn't help asking. The judgment seemed a little harsh to him. 

Black snorted. "It does if she's pretending to be a good pure-blood girl. They're not supposed to do anything until they're married." 

"You could do another potion," suggested Pettigrew. "One that makes anyone who's ever -- you know -- break out in blue spots, or something." 

"Yes," Remus commented drily. "And then, after you've invaded everyone's privacy and sent Gryffindor into negative points, you can find out what happens when you're hit with fifty different hexes at the same time. I hear some of those Ravenclaws are quite creative." 

"Well, what d'you suggest, Mr I-Never-Lose-House-Points?" asked Black. 

Remus shrugged again. "Just that maybe if it's your cousin you're out to get, you could try targeting her specifically, rather than turning the whole school against you." 

Potter grinned. "Isn't that sweet, Sirius? He cares about our well-being." 

"And he talks when I sit on his bed," Black replied bouncing gleefully until the springs twanged. 

Remus scowled and clamped his mouth shut, drawing his feet up the bed to avoid having them bounced on. He hadn't meant to encourage Black's disregard for his personal space -- he wasn't even sure how he had allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation -- but apparently it was too late now; Black considered him to be in on their latest attempt at an early grave. 

He bounced around until he was facing Remus. "C'mon, Lupin! Ideas! The Sorting Hat must've put you in here for a reason." 

_I'm not reckless like you,_ Remus thought. _I'm only brave because I have to be._

"I've got a camera," suggested Pettigrew. "We could sneak into Slytherin and catch them at it." 

"Oh, brilliant plan!" sneered Black. "If we knew the Slytherin password and my cousin's shagging schedule." 

"It would be a lot simpler if she just wound up preggers," mused Potter. 

"She's probably on that birth control potion," said Remus. 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. _Control, Lupin! What the hell is wrong with you?_ All three boys were staring at him. 

"What's a birth control potion?" asked Black, keenly interested. "Have you been withholding information, Lupin? Because that is not on." 

"Definitely not on," echoed Potter. 

"Just something I overheard Madam Pomfrey saying," Remus mumbled. 

Black's brow creased. "You were in the hospital wing? When?" 

"It was nothing," Remus told him hastily. He was going to have to tell them about the potion now, to get their attention off his slip-up. _This is what you get for opening your mouth, Lupin._ "I heard Madam Pomfrey tell a couple of girls about the potion," he said reluctantly. "I think she gives the recipe to all the girls." 

"What exactly did she say? You can tell me, Lupin," said Black, leaning closer and fluttering his long eyelashes absurdly. 

Remus eyed him warily. Madam Pomfrey would strangle him if she knew. He sighed. "She said not to add too much tansy oil, or they'd start to show signs of pregnancy." 

"Tansy oil!" crowed Potter. "We can get that!" 

Remus shifted further away from Black, who looked like he might pounce on him after all. "There's still no way you're getting into Slytherin," he reminded them. 

That sobered them up for a moment. 

"True," said Potter. 

"You could ask your friend Snape to do it," suggested Black. 

"Believe me," Remus told him, "we're not friends. He'd hex me as soon as look at me." 

Potter snorted. "Thinks you're trying to steal his girl, does he?" 

"Something like that," Remus mumbled. 

Black laughed. "Lupin, the Gryffindor ladies' man. Who knew? Maybe you could seduce a Slytherin and sneak in that way." 

Remus blushed, sending the other three into further gales of laughter. 

Once they had calmed down a bit, Potter said, "But seriously --" which always seemed to make Black giggle "-- who can get into Slytherin but a Slytherin?" 

"The professors," suggested Pettigrew. "They can go wherever they want." 

Potter and Black gave him a Look. 

"Sure," said Potter. "We'll just ask McGonagall if she'll do us a favour." 

"I was just saying," mumbled Pettigrew. "What about the ghosts?" 

"Ghosts can't carry anything," Black reminded him scornfully. "And it's not really the kind of thing we could ask Nearly-Headless Nick to do." 

"Peeves could do it," Remus said sardonically. "Maybe you could make friends with him. You're as bad as each other." 

Black stared at him. "I could kiss you, Lupin!" 

"Please don't," said Remus. 

* * *

> _P.S: Sirius Black is the maddest mad thing in the entire world, and he is probably going to end up getting me killed by a mob of angry Slytherins. So if I don't make it home for Christmas, that's probably why._


	9. The Mysterious Mr Lupin

Needless to say, the plan had not worked. Peeves, perverse by nature, had led the boys a merry caper, promising much, but the only result was an unfortunate encounter with a ghost who haunted the girls' toilets on the second floor. Sirius, James and Peter arrived back in their dormitory soaking wet, shivering, and in a foul humour. 

Anyone but Lupin would have fallen about laughing at the sight of them, but he only quirked an eyebrow and asked them how it had gone. Laughter would have resulted in Sirius flinging himself bodily on the other boy and making sure he was just as soaked and miserable as the rest of them, and well-ruffled to boot. Instead, Sirius only gave him a Black Look, marched over to his own bed, and began peeling off his sodden robes. 

"I cannot believe we missed the Quidditch again for that!" moaned James. He had subsided onto his bed, a large damp patch spreading out beneath him. 

"At least it was only Ravenclaw v Hufflepuff," sniffed Peter, shucking off his own robes and wrapping himself in his too-long, fluffy dressing gown. He explained to Lupin in a few words what had happened. 

Sirius crawled under the covers, shivering, hair still dripping, and glared at Lupin. "It was your idea," he said accusingly. 

Lupin shrugged. "I never said I thought it was a good one. Why didn't you get the Prewetts to help?" 

"Said we were mad," James mumbled, trying to burrow out of his damp robes without getting up. 

Something suspiciously like a snort came from Lupin's direction, and Sirius turned from James's squirming antics to regard the pale boy narrowly. As usual, his face showed almost nothing. 

"Could've used your help, Lupin," Sirius grumbled. 

"Nothing doing," said Lupin, eyes returning to his Potions book. "I don't fancy detention as much as you lot seem to." 

Peter paused in the middle of trying to heat a mug of tea with his wand. "How'd you know we got detention?" 

Lupin looked up. "You were in the girls' toilets. With Peeves. How many House points've we lost this time?" 

"Pringle took ten each," James admitted, following Sirius's lead and bundling himself into bed. "I need to earn some more this week to keep my count up." 

"Was it worth it?" 

"No," sulked Sirius. 

"Well," said James thoughtfully, "we did learn there are places Peeves can't go, which means there must be ways of controlling him." 

"Fat lot of good it did us this time," Sirius grumbled. 

Lupin looked vaguely interested. "Where can't he go?" 

"The Great Hall," said James. 

"Classrooms when there's a class going on," offered Peter. 

"And the dormitories," added Sirius. "So that plan's scotched." 

"Speaking of scotch," said James, "we need to practise that Disarming spell." 

Lupin's brow furrowed. "Maybe I don't want to know, but what's that got to do with scotch?" 

Sirius was grinning for the first time since their failed mission. "The Prewetts are making another try for old Sluggy's liquor cabinet." 

"And they promised we could come along if we show them a new Defence spell we've learned," said Peter. 

It was the arrangement they had worked out with the older boys: for every new Defensive spell they could demonstrate, the Prewetts allowed them to come along on an adventure. The twins believed that Defensive magic was important, and while the younger boys were largely unconcerned about the "dangers" posed by what they thought of as little more than boring politics, the Prewetts' incentive scheme had done more for their education thus far than Professor Tynedale's plodding lectures on Defensive theory. Sirius, James and Peter were especially interested in hexes, but once they realised they were going to have to demonstrate their new knowledge on one another, they began learning Shield charms and neutralising spells as well. Unfortunately for Peter, he was not always as quick to pick up new spells as his friends were, and sometimes he forgot the ones he had already learned, which meant he only got to join in on about half of their adventures with the Prewetts. 

The liquor cabinet caper was scheduled for the Tuesday night following the incident with Peeves and Moaning Myrtle, by which time all three boys had successfully managed to disarm one another -- though Peter only did it once -- as well as an increasingly annoyed Lupin. At least, Sirius assumed he was annoyed based on the calming breaths he took before speaking to the him. 

"You should be pleased," Sirius told him, grinning. "You're always saying how we should study and practise more." 

"I didn't mean on me," replied Lupin as he got up to retrieve his wand for the sixth time that afternoon. 

Two disarmings later, Lupin gave up saying anything at all, and did not even comment when the boys pulled on their robes and headed down to the common room to rendezvous with the Prewetts. 

Sirius paused on his way out. "Aren't you going to say something disapproving?" 

"Why should I?" said Lupin, already in bed and sounding sleepy. "You lot never listen. Besides, once you get yourselves expelled, I'll have all the peace and quiet I could want." 

Sirius laughed and shut the door quietly behind him, hurrying to catch up with the others. 

* * *

"You sure Slughorn won't catch us?" Peter asked as he peered, awestruck, into the dark interior of the elegant wooden cabinet. 

"Don't worry," Fabian said easily, not even bothering to whisper. "Old Sluggy makes a strong Sleeping Potion." 

Sirius reached past James for an unlabeled bottle, but Gideon stopped him. "Remember what we said?" 

"One drink each," Sirius scowled. "I've had more than that before." 

"What was it like?" James asked. 

Sirius's ears went pink. "Got dizzy and was sick all down Regs's front," he mumbled. 

"You see? I don't care if your parents buy you a bottle every year for your birthday," Fabian told him. "I'm not playing nursemaid to a bunch of drunken first years." 

To be fair to the Prewetts, the measures they poured of each boy's chosen drink were generous. Gideon lit a fire in the hearth, and the five of them settled comfortably into Slughorn's squashy leather armchairs, sipping cautiously from their crystal tumblers. 

"It's -- hot," Peter complained, making a face. 

"Course it is," Sirius rolled his eyes. "It's _fire_ whiskey." 

"Firewhiskey's cheap," Gideon informed them, always ready to educate his young charges. "It's not posh, but it'll get you pissed faster'n just about anything else. And I like it," he added, demonstrating by polishing off his own glass in a single swallow and pouring himself another measure. 

"My brother, the sot," said Fabian fondly, holding out his own glass for a refill. 

James and Sirius had chosen a fancy bottle of something called Gryffin's Gold. Sirius liked the way it sang and sparkled on his tongue, and made his head feel very far away from his knees. He wiggled his toes, and was rather surprised to find that they responded without any kind of time delay. 

"Good, innit?" said James, leaning over to clink his glass against Sirius's. 

"Yeah," Sirius grinned, taking a tiny sip. It tasted of honey and spices, and if this was all he was getting, he wanted to make it last. "Wonder what Lupin would've picked?" 

James snorted. "Tea. With biscuits, if he was feeling adventurous." 

They giggled immoderately over James's wit for a moment. 

"Tea. Books. Studying," said Sirius, shaking his head in disgust and savouring another sip. "How's a bloke that boring get Sorted into Gryffindor, anyway? Pete's more adventurous than he is." 

"Oi!" cried Peter, ears pricking at the scathing inflection of his name. "M'not boring!" 

"Didn't say you were, mate," James assured him. "Sirius was just saying Lupin is." 

Peter nodded slowly for a very long time, then seemed to realise he was doing it, and stopped. "Nice, though, isn't he?" 

"'Nice' is just another way of saying 'boring'," scoffed Sirius. "If he ever does anything interesting, I may die of shock." 

"Forgot you three had another roommate," said Gideon, breaking off from whatever he had been discussing with his brother. "I've barely seen him, except for meals." 

"Lupin, right?" said Fabian. "Heard Tynedale mention him once." 

James rolled his eyes. "She would. Swotty teacher's pet. He's just as boring as she is. They might as well get married." 

"Good at Defence, though, isn't he?" asked Fabian. 

The boys shrugged. "Suppose so," said Sirius. 

"Good for him." Gideon raised his third glass. "Do any of you know 'Helga and the Blacksmith'?" 

"Eh?" Peter vocalised their confusion at this sudden change of topic. 

"Gideon and I were just trying to remember the words," Fabian explained, "and we don't recall whether the verse about the yellow knickers comes before or after the verse about the cask of mead." 

"The yellow knickers are in the chorus," Gideon insisted, and sang: 

  
_"He followed her from east to west,_   
_To win the heart within her breast,_   
_The Muggle smith who loved her best,_   
_Helga of the yellow knickers."_   


The three first years giggled. 

"Is that about Helga Hufflepuff?" asked James. 

"Sure is," said Fabian with a wink. "And every word of it true." 

The Prewetts took turns regaling the younger boys with as many verses as they could recall -- a dozen at least -- each one bawdier than the last, about Helga Hufflepuff and the Muggle blacksmith who became her husband. 

"Who knew a bird like that founded Hogwarts' most boring House?" giggled Sirius after they all joined in for a rousing final chorus. 

Gideon grinned. "What makes you think Hufflepuffs are boring, Black? They just know a thing or two about not getting caught. There was this one time me and Fabian and Amelia Bones --" 

Fabian cleared his throat loudly, interrupting his brother. 

"What?" Gideon scowled. 

"They're eleven," said Fabian, giving him a warning look. "They can find out about Hufflepuff girls on their own someday." 

"I'm just trying to make a point," huffed Gideon. "Just because they think someone's boring doesn't mean --" 

"Point made," said Fabian. "And now maybe it's time we were all getting back to our beds." 

Reluctantly and a trifle unsteadily, the boys got to their feet. Sirius tipped his head back and drained the last few honey-sweet drops of Gryffin's Gold from his glass and handed it to Fabian, who quickly charmed it clean and replaced it on the shelf with the others. 

They stumbled through the corridors, giggling and _shush_ ing one another all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius was very glad they didn't encounter Pringle or Peeves on the way. He didn't think he was drunk, but McGonagall might not agree, and he didn't want to think about what she might come up with for their second detention in the space of a week. 

James trod on Sirius's robes as they climbed through the portrait hole, and the two of them went down, taking Peter with them, and ended in a helplessly fizzing heap on the common room floor. 

"Up you get, lads," said Fabian, dragging Sirius awkwardly to his feet, clearly no better off than the rest of them. "And off to your beds. Drink water; your heads will thank you in the morning." 

The Prewetts saw them as far as the door to their room, and bid them good night. 

James turned to Sirius with a bow. "May I have this dance?" 

"Such a gentleman!" Sirius swooned into his arms. 

They waltzed into the darkened room, humming the tune to "Helga and the Blacksmith", with Peter dancing alongside them, clapping and giggling. 

There was an irritable " _Lumos_ ," and Lupin's sleep-scrunched face was peering at them from between his bed curtains. 

"Oh. You're back," he said. "Lose anymore House points?" 

"Lupin!" cried Sirius joyously, performing a little pirouette. "We were just talking about you!" 

"You're pissed," Lupin accused as Peter took Sirius's place in the waltz. 

"Only a little," said Sirius, wrenching the bed curtain out of Lupin's hand and flinging it wide. "Only a very, very little bit. Aren't you going to ask us how it was?" 

"How was it?" Lupin obliged, keeping a wary eye on Sirius's fancy footwork. 

"It was _brilliant_! Old Sluggy's got taste and style to spare!" Sirius declared, bouncing onto the other boy's bed. "Come dance with me, Lupin!" Without warning, he pounced. 

The second his hand closed around Lupin's arm, a soundless explosion jolted through him. He was thrown backwards, only prevented from falling off the bed when one of the bedposts caught him sharply in the back. 

He stared across the expanse of the bed into Lupin's wide eyes, heart pounding, the golden fizz gone from his blood and his brain. 

"What in the name of Slytherin's pants --?" he gasped. 

James and Peter had stopped dancing and were staring as well. "Did you just do accidental magic?" asked James incredulously. 

"Sorry," Lupin mumbled, dropping his eyes. "I just -- don't like people touching me." 

"Y'don't say," murmured Sirius, staggering off the bed and rubbing a bruised spot at the base of his spine. 

Lupin, blushing furiously, yanked his bed curtains closed and vanished behind them. The other three got ready for bed in silence. 

It took Sirius a while to fall asleep. Quiet, mild, studious, boring Lupin had panicked and lost control of his magic when touched. _And why would he do that?_ wondered Sirius. He could not imagine what would make someone act in such a peculiar fashion. Lupin, he decided, would bear watching. 

* * *

Lupin had already gone down to breakfast the following morning by the time his three roommates woke up. Sirius suspected that he was avoiding them after the previous night's incident. That was what Lupin did -- avoid people. 

Sirius hurried on his clothes and headed down to the Great Hall without waiting for James and Peter. When he got there, Lupin was sitting with Evans. Sirius took a seat several places down from them on the opposite side of the table in order to watch the other boy covertly. 

He was amazed by the sheer amount of food Lupin put away. Did he always eat so much? If he did, surely Sirius would have noticed, or James or Peter would have said something. How could he eat so much and yet be so thin? He ate as if he were starving, without even appearing to notice what he was eating. 

Sirius did much the same, automatically shovelling in eggs, bacon and toast, barely noticing that everything was excellent and done to perfection. 

When Lupin looked up once and caught Sirius watching him, he held his gaze, his face a bland mask, until Sirius blushed and dropped his eyes back to his plate. He didn't look again until Lupin and Evans rose, plates vanishing, and headed out of the Great Hall. By then, James and Peter had arrived with a bleary-looking Gideon and Fabian, and Sirius decided against following his quarry. 

He caught up with Lupin again in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It became clear to Sirius early in the lesson that Lupin was having a bad day. He fumbled the protection spell they had been practising since last week, and looked blankly at Professor Tynedale when she addressed him with a question even Peter could have answered. 

"Are you OK?" Sirius heard Evans whisper when Tynedale turned away looking disappointed. He noted that when Evans put her hand on Lupin's arm, she didn't get blasted with accidental magic. 

"Fine," Lupin muttered shortly, not looking at her. 

Sirius wondered if Lupin's agitation had anything to do with the previous night's loss of control. Sometimes, as with their flying lessons, when Lupin's confidence took a hit, it was difficult for him to regain his composure. Defence Against the Dark Arts was, so far as Sirius knew, Lupin's best subject. For him to be performing so poorly, clearly something had to be bothering him. 

In Charms, their second class of the morning, Lupin fared no better. They were meant to be charming a teapot to whistle the Hogwarts school song, and while Sirius managed to get his to do at least the first few notes -- over and over again, _ad nauseum_ \-- the only sound Lupin's made was a sad little whimper before cracking itself in half and spilling tea everywhere. Lupin just stood there, staring at it, tea dripping onto his trainers, while Evans charmed away the mess and repaired the teapot before Flitwick could notice. 

Lupin was one of the first students into the Great Hall for lunch, and again he ate like he hadn't seen a proper meal in weeks. Sirius began to wonder if he had been hexed, but the odd symptoms didn't match any hex he knew. All he could do was apply to his friends. 

"Have you noticed Lupin acting -- funny today?" he whispered to James and Peter under the clatter of plates and cutlery. 

Both boys glanced at their studious roommate with mild curiosity, then shook their heads. 

"Hadn't noticed," said James, returning his attention to his own lunch. 

Peter just shrugged. 

Sirius found their lack of interest more than a little maddening. Why was he the only one who could see how strange and mysterious Lupin's behaviour was? 

After lunch, Sirius knew, Lupin and Evans usually went to the library until the start of their afternoon class, and there was no way he could follow them there without arousing suspicions. It was well known that Sirius Black had little use for that cloister of silence, dust and study. He widely claimed to be allergic to books. 

But to his surprise, when he "just happened" to follow Lupin and Evans out of the Great Hall, instead of going up the main staircase, they turned left and headed out the castle doors into the school grounds. 

The day was cold -- it was December now -- and while the other two were both wearing their winter cloaks, Sirius was not, and he hesitated a moment over whether or not to follow them. 

He decided against it. If any two first year students were less likely to be doing anything questionable, Sirius couldn't name them, and it was clear from Evans' concern in Defence class that she had no more idea what was wrong with Lupin than Sirius did. 

James and Peter caught him loitering around the entrance hall. 

"What're you up to, Black?" asked James. 

Sirius shrugged. "Nothing. Just saw Lupin and Evans go outside, and wondered why." 

James gave him an odd look. "You OK, mate?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Well, for one thing, you've been following Lupin around like a lost puppy all day --" 

"I'm investigating," Sirius informed him with asperity. 

James looked dubious. "Is this about last night when he zapped you?" 

"Yeah," said Sirius, surprised that he should ask. "Didn't you think that was weird?" 

"A bit odd," James allowed. "But it happens sometimes. You've never lost control of your magic?" 

"Not since I got here," Sirius said. "And neither have you, that I know of, nor Pete." 

He looked to the blond boy for confirmation, and Peter nodded. "Nothing since last summer." 

"So, it's weird," Sirius insisted. "He's weird. And I want to know why." 

James shook his head, baffled. "Suit yourself, mate. C'mon, Pete; we've just got time for a game of Exploding Snap before History of Magic." 

Sirius watched them go, then positioned himself on the first landing of the main staircase so that he could be "just passing through" the entrance hall on his way to their next class when Lupin and Evans returned. 

When the doors opened, he hurried down the stairs and fell into step beside them, before realising he should have prepared a conversation opener. 

"Nice day for a walk," he said lamely. 

"Hmm?" Lupin glanced at him, distracted. "Oh. Yeah." 

"Headed for History of Magic?" he asked, wanting to hit himself. Where else would they be going? 

"Yeah." Lupin didn't seem to notice anything unusual in Sirius's demeanor, though Evans gave him an odd look. 

"Me, too," said Sirius, feeling like a first rate dunce. 

When they reached the classroom, he only just stopped himself from saying, "Well, here we are." Before he could make anymore moronically obvious statements, he hurried to his seat and took out quill and parchment. He gave himself a count of ten, then glanced over at Lupin and Evans. Both had quill and parchment on the desk before them, but Lupin was staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused. Not an unknown expression in this classroom, but most students didn't get that glazed look until Professor Binns started talking. 

Sirius's eyes strayed to Lupin frequently during the hour-long lecture. Lupin wasn't taking notes. Sirius wasn't taking notes either, but that wasn't unusual, especially in this class. Lupin always took notes. Sirius frequently stole them. Halfway through the class, Sirius caught Evans casting a worried look at Lupin, coppery eyebrows drawn together. She, at least, was behaving as usual, scrawling down notes as Binns droned monotonously on, as if long-dead goblins were the most fascinating thing in the world. 

When the bell rang, Sirius hung back, allowing Lupin and Evans to exit the classroom ahead of him. James and Peter waited with him, James shaking his head in apparent disgust, but prepared to humour his friend. 

Halfway down the corridor, they met the first year Slytherins. It had been over a month since Sirius had been troubled by these encounters, instead shooting insults and sneers back with careless ease at the House he had formerly coveted. 

But today, he paused. Snape had detained Evans, and Lupin stopped to wait for her. 

"You didn't come to the library after lunch," said Snape. 

"We went for a walk," Lupin told him. 

Snape turned narrowed eyes on the pale boy. "I wasn't talking to you, Lupin," he spat. 

Sirius's jaw clenched. The sallow Slytherin's tone set his teeth on edge. 

"Sev." Evans's voice held a note of warning. "We just went for a walk. Remus didn't feel like studying, and I --" 

"You just thought you'd blow me off, is that it?" said Snape coldly. 

Evans scowled at him. "It's not like that, and you know it, Sev. We don't have to meet up every single day." 

Snape's eyes were still locked on Lupin. Sirius saw his hand twitch towards his wand, and surreptitiously drew his own. Then Snape seemed to realise that he was surrounded by Gryffindors. His own classmates had not waited for him. 

"Fine," he said. "From now on I'll consult you about your daily calendar, and see if you can pencil me in. Once a month, do you think?" 

"Sev --" Evans's voice had turned pleading. 

Snape pushed past her and stalked off, throwing, "I'll owl you my schedule," over his shoulder. 

"What a whiney prat," muttered James as they headed back to Gryffindor tower for the afternoon. "You'd think he owned her." 

"Typical Slytherin," smirked Sirius, and they both chuckled at the irony of the heir to House Black saying such a thing. 

Sirius spent the afternoon on his bed, pretending to study, while Lupin appeared to do much the same. Lupin's eyes were glued to his Charms textbook, but he never once turned the page, nor jotted down notes, nor attempted the Whistling Charm again. His eyes did not move, and had the same glazed look they had worn in History of Magic. 

At last, Lupin sighed and closed his textbook, then, with a surreptitious glance at Sirius, headed down to supper. It was a little early, and Sirius wondered if Lupin would repeat his performance from breakfast and lunch. He waited five minutes, then followed. James and Peter were playing Gobstones with the Prewetts in the common room. 

"I'm famished," he told them. "See you lot down at supper." 

James raised his eyebrows. "Already gone down, has he?" 

"Who?" asked Fabian. 

"Lupin," said James. "Sirius is _investigating_ him to find out if he's really as boring as he seems." 

"Fair enough," replied Fabian, positioning one of his gobstones for his next shot. 

Sirius went through the portrait hole and headed down the long staircase. He would just have to catch up to Lupin in the Great Hall. 

But Lupin wasn't in the Great Hall. In fact, Sirius was the first to arrive for the meal. He peered around a few corners, and even out the huge double doors of the castle, but all he saw was Hagrid, the gamekeeper, heading up to the castle for his supper in the gathering darkness. Lupin was nowhere to be found. 

When James and Peter arrived with the Prewetts ten minutes later, hair sticking up in places, stiff with gobstone juice, Lupin wasn't with them. Evans, a few minutes behind them, arrived alone. Sirius spent the entire meal craning his neck, expecting his roommate to show up at any minute and fall on the roast pork like a ravening wolf, but he never did. 

Sirius began to worry that something had happened to him. Something like Snape. 

"Have you seen Lupin?" he asked James and Peter. 

"Not since this afternoon," James replied. 

"I saw him go out of the common room just before you came down," Peter offered. 

But that much Sirius already knew. 

"Oi, Evans," he called down the table. 

The redhead looked over at him curiously. 

"Have you seen Lupin?" 

She shook her head and turned back to her conversation with Dorcas Meadowes. She didn't seem worried about him, at least. 

After supper, Sirius dragged James and Peter off to check the library, and, just in case, the hospital wing. Lupin was nowhere to be found. Nor did he reappear in the common room or their dormitory that night. 

"He's gone and buggered off again," said Sirius disbelievingly. 

James glanced up from the _Daily Prophet_ 's Quidditch results towards Lupin's empty bed. "Looks like." 

"Maybe Snape hexed him," suggested Peter, giving voice to Sirius's largest concern. 

"Nah," said James, not looking up. "If there's one thing Lupin can do, it's defend himself." 

"Wouldn't put it past Snape to hex him in the back," said Sirius darkly. 

James flashed him a sardonic smile. "If you want to go pound on the Slytherin common room door and demand that Snape come out so you can beat a confession out of him, be my guest. Maybe I'll even come along and watch." 

"You could go to McGonagall and report him missing," said Peter practically. 

"Nah," said Sirius, flopping restlessly back onto his pillows. "He's always come back before." 

"See?" James said, deftly transfiguring Sirius's pillow into a rock. "If he's not back by tomorrow night, we'll call out the cavalry." 

Sirius scowled at him, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his head. He hefted the rock in both hands. "I am going to chuck this at you in about five seconds," he informed his friend, "so you'd better change it back." 

* * *

Sirius had half expected Lupin to show up for their midnight Astronomy class that night, but he didn't. Instead, Sirius left James and Peter to work together while he partnered with Evans, much to her consternation. 

"Any idea where Lupin is?" he asked quietly as they took turns gazing at the face of the full moon through her telescope. The brass knobs were slippery and difficult to adjust with chilled, gloved fingers. 

She looked at him curiously. "He went to see his mum," she said, breath clouding in the cold night air. "Didn't he tell you?" 

"His mum?" Sirius asked, surprised. "Why?" 

"Because she's ill," Evans said slowly, as if Sirius were a bit of a simpleton. "Surely he's told you that." 

"No," Sirius said grumpily. _Not that I've ever asked._

* * *

Lupin was missing from Herbology, Charms and Transfiguration the next day, but Sirius had stopped wondering at his absence once Evans had offered such a mundane explanation for it. His mother's illness probably also explained his occasional preoccupation and lack of focus in class. Sirius wondered if perhaps she was dying. If she was getting worse, that might be the reason why Lupin sometimes disappeared midweek, rather than waiting for weekends to go home. It was a shame for Lupin if she was dying, but still was not terribly interesting. 

By mid-afternoon, his quiet roommate had completely vanished from Sirius's thoughts, his attention now entirely focussed on an argument with James concerning which of them was the better flyer. The three of them had dropped their books and quills back in the room after Transfiguration, and headed down into the grounds to swipe a couple of school brooms from the broom shed. 

Sirius privately thought he had managed to lay hands on a better broom than James, but still he complained loudly about its quality, so that if Peter, who was to act as judge, decided against him, he could later blame his poor performance on inferior equipment. James, however, had outflown him easily, ending in a swishy loop and sideways skid that had knocked Sirius from his seat. 

"You owe me a Galleon, Black!" James crowed as he flew his borrowed broom back to the shed. 

Sirius had returned to their room alone and in something of a foul temper just before supper. He rummaged through his trunk until his fist closed around the glinting gold of a coin. Shoving it into the pocket of his robes, he noticed mud and grass clinging to his sleeve. 

Wanting to tidy himself up a bit before supper, he barged into the bathroom, one hand tugging at his hair, wondering if it was in as much of a state as he suspected it was. Then Sirius froze, one hand still on the doorknob. 

Lupin was stepping out of the shower, slim hips swathed in a large, maroon towel. 

"D'you mind?" he asked, a touch sharply. 

"Sorry," Sirius mumbled, quickly stepping back and closing the door between them. 

He stood there for a moment, and then went to sit on his bed, mind whirling at what he had just seen. Lupin's arms, legs and chest were covered -- _covered_ \-- in a fine crosshatching of livid white and pink scars, with here at there the pucker of a deeper puncture. It had not even occurred to Sirius until now that, unlike the rest of them, Lupin always changed in the bathroom, or with his curtains closed. Sirius couldn't imagine -- did not know what to think. No bloody wonder if he didn't like to be touched! 

It was ten minutes before Lupin, now dressed, exited the bathroom. He went to his bed, not meeting Sirius's eyes. 

"What happened?" Sirius asked softly. 

Lupin shot him a glance, and quickly looked away again. His face was a closed book. "I'd say that's none of your business, Black." 

"Is some Slytherin giving you trouble?" pressed Sirius, thinking again of Snape. "Because if they are --" 

"It's nothing." There was a sharp edge to Lupin's voice, warning Sirius that the subject was closed. 

"Remus --" It was the first time he had used Lupin's given name. It felt strange on his tongue. 

"What?" Lupin snapped, eyes flashing. 

"I just -- d'you want to borrow my Astronomy notes?" Sirius blurted out. 

"Oh," Lupin blinked. "Yeah. Thanks." 

"It's a shame you missed it." Sirius attempted to disperse the tension in the air with a smile. "The moon was gorgeous last night." 

Lupin stiffened slightly and turned away. "Yeah," he mumbled. "That would've been cool."


	10. Christmas Misadventures

He hated that Black had seen his scars, though if Remus was honest with himself, he had known that it was bound to happen sooner or later. Now it seemed like every time he looked up, Black was watching him. Remus could feel him thinking about what he had seen. But after three days, he realised that Black wasn't going to mention the incident again, and he began to relax -- as much as he ever did. He even began to be a little amused, because Black was being nice to him -- an unprecedented occurrence -- even going so far as to ask before borrowing his notes. Most of the time. 

But balancing Remus's amusement was irritation. He wasn't looking for anyone's pity, and certainly not his privileged roommate's. He had grown used to people's horror and disgust of werewolves, but somehow it was always pity that grated on him most. He hated being treated as if he was pathetic or weak or broken. It was bad enough thinking those things himself, without others doing the same. 

Remus did manage to muster a small amount of gratitude that Black had not mentioned anything to Potter or Pettigrew. They treated him with the same indifference as always, barely glancing at him or including him in their conversations. Remus hoped that soon Black would grow bored with his private speculations and do the same. 

But more than a week passed, and Black's interest did not waver. It seemed that, as long as his concern lasted, he would continue to pester Remus and invite him along with the others everywhere they went. Meals, classes, dodgy late-night wanderings, and that afternoon, oddly enough, tea with the gamekeeper. 

"C'mon, Lupin," Black pleaded, blinking in what he probably thought was a winsome manner. "Gid and Fabe say his place is amazing. Everything's at least twice normal size." 

Remus shook his head. "I've got to study," he said. "I'm behind on Charms, and I still haven't copied Potter's Transfiguration notes from last week." 

"But it's Saturday!" whined Black. "Saturday isn't for studying; it's for skiving off. Everyone knows that! Besides, there's no rule against visiting the gamekeeper. You're not going to lose House points or anything." 

"I expect you lot would find a way." Remus almost smiled. "All right. I'll come along if it'll keep you out of trouble." 

He bundled up as best he could in his threadbare cloak, scarf and thin gloves, and followed Black down to the common room, where the the Prewetts, Pettigrew and Potter were waiting. 

Exiting the castle doors into the failing winter light, they were met with a blast of driving sleet. 

"Bloody hell!" chattered Black, attempting to make his neck disappear into the soft folds of his thick, woollen cloak. 

"That's what you get for burning your scarf, mate," Potter said, slapping him on the back as they hurried into the wind. 

"You burnt your scarf?" Gideon asked, puzzled. 

Potter grinned. "Git went and brought a Slytherin scarf to school, instead of one of the colour-charm ones you're meant to get before you're Sorted." 

Fabian laughed. "Sounds like you earned that cold neck, Black." 

"If I come down with something, I swear I'll cough all over you unfeeling sods, and we'll all die together," Black scowled. At least, it sounded to Remus like he was scowling. The only part of him visible under his hood was the reddened tip of his nose. 

At the door to the gamekeeper's hut, they waited, hopping from foot to foot to keep warm, listening to the frantic scuffle and barking going on inside. 

"Down, Fuzzball!" growled a voice, and then the door was opened, and Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts' enormous gamekeeper, was beaming at them and ushering them inside. 

Everything in the hut was, as promised, much bigger than normal, but that was to be expected, considering that Hagrid was about ten feet tall. A bed like a small continent took up nearly half the space, with a large table occupying much of the rest of it. Game birds and joints of meat hung from the rafters, and a well-worn crossbow leaned against the wall. Despite rumours to the contrary, it appeared that Hagrid did not, in fact, eat children. All in all, it looked like exactly the sort of place a wild-looking giant of a man would live. 

"I see yeh've brought some little friends today, Gideon, Fabian," Hagrid beamed. 

"We thought it was time you met our first years," Fabian told him, and introduced them. 

"Pleased ter meet yeh, lads." Hagrid carefully shook each of their hands and then turned to drag over a huge elkhound that was cowering against the bed. "And this here's Fuzzball. Dunno what's got inter him. He's not usually so shy. C'mon, Fuzzy. Come meet the lads." 

Fuzzball at last reluctantly consented to give Potter, Black and Pettigrew's fingers a sniff, but Remus, guessing the source of the dog's wariness, stood well back, and did not try to force the issue. 

"Don' yeh like dogs, then, lad?" Hagrid sounded personally wounded by the possibility. 

Remus felt his ears go pink. They were all looking at him again. "They -- er -- don't usually like me very much," he mumbled. 

Hagrid looked as if he might argue, but the evidence of Fuzzball's behaviour supported Remus's claim, and with a shrug of his massive shoulders, he turned to the stove to put the kettle on. The dog, once released, slunk into the farthest corner of the hut and stayed there for the remainder of their visit, eyeing the intruders warily. 

"So, what've you lads been up ter?" Hagrid asked, setting the heavy, square table with seven oversized mugs and a plate of pastries as the boys sat down. 

"Hogsmeade," said Fabian, leaning across the table for a cake and eyeing it surreptitiously before nibbling a corner. "Zonko's this morning, then down the Three Broomsticks all afternoon. Only just got back before we came here." 

"We overheard some folk talking," added Gideon. "Have you heard anything about the Shrieking Shack, Hagrid?" 

"Can' say as I have," Hagrid said, pouring tea from the gigantic copper kettle. "Would you lads like a tot o' mead in yer tea, then? I 'spose I shouldn', you bein' firs' years an' all, but a speck o' mead never hurt no one, did it?" 

Even Remus held out his mug, cradling it in two hands, for a splash of the sweet, golden liquor. He usually enjoyed a bit of honey in his tea, and when one came right down to it, this was almost the same thing. The hot, steaming beverage was heavenly after the cold walk down from the castle. 

"What's the Shrieking Shack?" asked Pettigrew, crawling halfway onto the table to snag the plate of cakes and scooping up two for himself before shoving the rest towards his roommates. 

Remus took one and hefted it carefully. It seemed fairly solid. Maybe if he dipped it in his tea -- 

"It's this old house in the village," Gideon explained. "All boarded up. The whole town's talking about how haunted it is, but we've never heard anyone mention it before this year." 

Remus jerked and made a small sound. 

"You OK?" asked Black. 

"Bit my tongue," Remus mumbled, abandoning the rocklike cake and burying his nose in his mug. _They can't mean --?_

"But it can't just suddenly be haunted out of nowhere, can it?" Potter asked. 

Fabian shook his head. "Ghosts have to be closely connected to a place for ages while they're alive to haunt it after they die. No one's lived in that place for as long as anyone can remember." 

"So we're going to investigate," said Gideon. "Next Hogsmeade weekend isn't until February, but maybe we can find an excuse to have a poke around before then." 

"You shouldn't be sneaking off school grounds for something like that," Remus heard himself saying, slightly panicked. He hadn't considered until now that the noise he made once a month would attract the notice of the entire village. 

The twins just grinned at him. "What have we here? A first year prefect? Going to take House points off us, Mr Lupin?" 

"You're not afraid of a few ghosties, are you, Lupin?" teased Potter. 

"No," Remus flushed. "I just don't think it's a good idea to go poking your noses into an old place like that. Might be dangerous." _For me._

"The lad's not wrong," Hagrid scowled -- a ferocious expression on his broad, bearded face. "If it's the one I'm thinkin' of, it's a dodgy lookin' place, an' no mistake. Might tumble down around yer ears if yeh look at it wrong. Now, put that idea right out o' yer heads an' tell me what you lot are doin' over the holidays." 

Remus was relieved when the others let the subject of the Hogsmeade "haunting" drop, though he did not miss the furtive look and Potter and Black exchanged. _As long as they don't snoop around during the full moon, it'll be all right,_ he told himself. It didn't sounds like the gossip the Prewett twins had overheard had connected the sounds coming from the house with the lunar cycle. 

He was so lost in thought that Black had to wave a hand in front of his eyes to get his attention. "Anyone home?" 

"Sorry. What was the question?" 

Hagrid flashed him an enormous, kindly smile. "You stayin' for Christmas?" 

"Can't," he told the gamekeeper. "Mum wants me home, and my sister'll go spare if I don't." He wanted to go, too, and not just because there would be another full moon during the holidays. Homesickness was a constant, nagging ache in his chest. But that wasn't the sort of thing one said in front of one's roommates, if one did not wish to be mocked for a big girl's blouse. 

"Ah, well, it's nice ter have family," said Hagrid. 

"Well, I'm not going home," Black declared loudly. "I've barely heard from them since I got here. I know when I'm not wanted." 

Remus tried to imagine what it would be like not to be wanted at home. He tried to picture not hugging his mother and his father and Natalie the moment he saw them at Kings Cross station, not helping his parents with Christmas dinner, or having his hair ruffled by his father in passing, or reading bits of books back and forth out loud with his sister. It made him feel a bit hollow inside. For all Black seemed to have it all in terms of material possessions, he was lacking rather notably in the things that, in Remus's opinion, mattered most, and Remus found himself feeling a little sorry for him. 

"Figured you weren't, mate," said Potter, "so I'm staying, too. Someone's got to keep you out of trouble." 

Black blinked. "You're staying for me?" 

Potter shrugged, grinning. "Mum and Dad wanted me home, but I told them I was needed here." 

An answering grin spread across Black's face, and he punched Potter in the shoulder. "You're more likely to get me into trouble than out of it." 

"I'm staying, too," Pettigrew said abruptly. 

"Come off it, Pete," scoffed Black. "Your mum'll never let you." 

"I owled her," Pettigrew insisted. "She can't make me go home." 

Remus thought it was a little bit sweet and a little bit pathetic, Pettigrew standing up to his mother like that just to impress Potter and Black, but the announcement seemed to go over well with the other boys. 

"The castle will be our oyster," Potter proclaimed, hooking his elbows around Black and Pettigrew's necks. "We'll be adventurers -- explorers. We'll know every nook and cranny by January." 

"Well, good luck with that," said Gideon, sipping his tea. "Just remember that Pringle doesn't go home for the holidays, either." 

"Are you two staying?" asked Black. 

Fabian shook his head. "We're off to Molly's. She'll scold us for neglect, but she'll stuff us silly while she's at it, so it's all worthwhile." 

"Not that yeh'll be missin' out by stayin' here," Hagrid informed the others. "The house-elves go all out fer Christmas dinner, even though it's only ever the staff an' a few students here fer it. Poor little blighters work themselves half ter death." 

"Speaking of dinner," said Gideon, rising, "we'd better be getting back up to the castle. Thanks for the tea, Hagrid. And the -- er -- cakes." 

While they were cozily drinking tea with the gamekeeper, the sleet had turned to snow. A whoop of joy stopped Remus in his tracks, staring. Black, whose wits had apparently deserted him, was dancing about, trying to catch every flake on his tongue, bare neck forgotten. 

"It's _snooooowing_!" he sang, frolicking madly. "I love snow!" 

Remus was not sure what possessed him. While Potter, Pettigrew and the Prewetts were distracted by Black's antics, he crouched down and scraped together a handful of wet flakes. Standing, he took careful aim -- and caught Black full in the face. 

Black broke off, mid-frolic, and stared at him, stunned. The others were doubled over laughing. 

"We should put mead in Lupin's tea more often," Potter hooted. 

* * *

The castle wasn't just quieter after everyone left for the holidays; it was colder, too. At least, Sirius swore that it was. James wasn't sure he agreed, and told Sirius that if he was cold he could always put on more layers. But aside from his winter cloak, which he steadfastly refused to wear indoors, none of Sirius's fine and fancy clothes were worth much in terms of the warmth they provided. 

Sirius solved the problem by stealing a ratty brown jumper from Lupin's trunk. James privately thought it looked atrocious on him, but Sirius insisted that he liked it, and started wearing it everywhere. 

The three boys practically had Gryffindor tower to themselves. Only the giggly Hathersage sisters, first year Matilda and third year Cecilia, remained besides themselves. They slept until all hours of the morning, played loud and boisterous games in the common room until the house-elves came to stoke the morning fires, and roamed the corridors at will, learning new shortcuts and making note of statues, tapestries and unusual suits of armour to guide them through the castle. 

By mutual agreement, they had decided to wait for New Years Eve to investigate Hogsmeade's so-called Shrieking Shack. Not only would the Hogwarts staff be busy celebrating that night, and taking less notice of illicit comings and goings, but they would have the light of the full moon to see by. At least, James and Sirius had agreed to this plan. Peter was not nearly so keen to poke around potentially haunted houses on cold winter nights. 

"But you see ghosts every day!" said Sirius, exasperated. "You're not scared of Nearly-Headless Nick, are you?" 

"No," Peter sulked, but James suspected this was not entirely true, given Peter's timid and sensitive nature, and the fact that whenever they met the Gryffindor ghost, Peter was careful to keep either James or Sirius between himself and the spectre. 

Christmas Day began with Sirius landing smack in the middle of James's bed, yanking the pillow out from under his slumbering head and attempting to smother him with it while bawling, "Wake up, Potter! It's Christmas!" 

" _Umph_ ," replied James inarticulately, flailing a bit. 

"What was that?" asked Sirius, removing the pillow. 

"I said, 'get off me, you sodding nutter'," James huffed, scowling. 

"C'mon, James. Prezzies!" Sirius pleaded. "Pete 'n' I can't open ours until you're up. Wouldn't be sporting." 

"He hexed me and took mine away when I tried," Peter pouted, showing James his hands, thumbs stuck fast to the palms. 

James rolled his eyes. "Fix Pete, and we can do prezzies," he told Sirius. 

Sirius did so, and the three of them gathered on the floor between their beds with their small piles of loot. 

For all his enthusiasm, Sirius's presents were more than a little disappointing. His parents had sent nothing but a long letter saying that they had considered his situation at length, and exhorting him to remain on good terms with "those of good family and reputation, abhorring the company of half-bloods, Muggleborns and blood-traitors" insofar as was possible. 

"Oh, that's jolly," commented James sarcastically. "Happy Christmas and all that." 

A small, anonymous, clumsily-wrapped gift proved to be an intricate silver cloak pin in the shape of Sirius's initials. He scowled at it. "Regs. Must be." 

"Well, that's sort of nice," said James, peering at the ornate monogram. 

Sirius leaned to open his trunk and tossed the glinting silver ornament inside. "He hasn't written to me at all," he said coldly. "Which means he's either a traitor or a coward, and one's as bad as the other, if you ask me." 

"He's only ten," Peter said quietly. 

Sirius was unimpressed. "He can still write, can't he? If he can go to the trouble of having a thing like that made and sent, he can bloody well find himself a quill and parchment and send me a sodding letter." 

James could tell that Regulus's perceived abandonment upset Sirius, but having no siblings of his own, and having never met Sirius's brother, he was unsure what to say. 

"Sod him," James settled on. "Open the other one." 

This one, too, was anonymous, but more tidily wrapped than the other. Sirius tore off the paper and stared at the object in his lap. It was a long, multi-coloured scarf. 

"Where'd this come from?" 

James shrugged, grinning. "I owled Mum and Dad and had them send it 'round. Can't have my best mate dying of pneumonia, can I?" 

With a shout, Sirius leapt on him, and they wrestled amid the wrapping paper until they were both thoroughly tangled in the scarf. 

"C'mon," James croaked, Sirius's knee on his chest. "Colour it already!" 

"What do I do?" asked Sirius, removing the constricting knee. 

James sat up, gulping air. "Just grab hold of it and say the name of the House." 

Sirius licked his lips and laid hold of the scarf that still bound them together. 

" _Gryffindor!_ " they cried. 

The folds and loops of the scarf shivered and the stripes shifted, until all the other House colours faded away, and all the was left was red and gold. 

"Pete's turn," said James, disentangling himself and handing the scarf to Sirius, who wound it around his neck where it clashed horribly with Lupin's old jumper. 

Peter's gifts from his mother weren't much better than the ones Sirius had got from his family. She had sent a purplish turtleneck jumper and a frilly-looking crocheted pillowcase, both of which she had clearly made herself. Peter blushed. 

"D'you reckon I have to use them?" he asked the other two. "Or can I just tell her I love them and stick them in my trunk?" 

James punched him in the arm. "It's the thought that counts, mate." 

The gift from Peter's uncle was rather better. He had sent a small, carefully-wrapped cage containing a custard-coloured ball of fur. Peter was delighted -- though James privately considered puffskeins to be a girly sort of pet -- and immediately named it Constantine, for his uncle. 

James's parents had -- at their son's urging -- sent Peter a box of Chocolate Frogs, which he immediately broke open and shared with his friends while James opened his own gifts. 

His mum and dad were brilliant gift-givers, and James was not disappointed. He unwrapped a large bag of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, and -- _Oh, well done, Mum!_ \-- a complete set of Falmouth Falcons action figures that actually flew and demonstrated Quidditch plays on command. 

The three boys watched the tiny players swoop and soar for several minutes before Sirius asked, "Are you going to open that or not?" 

James looked down in surprise to see a small scroll secured with a red ribbon. Curious, he tugged the ribbon off and unrolled the parchment. 

"It's to all of us," he said, and read out, 

_Dear Junior Pranksters,_

_We figured you've earned yourselves a bit of a treat, so here you go. Since you're all staying at school over the hols, feel free to help yourselves to the prefects' baths. Believe us, it's worth it! You'll find them on the fifth floor, fourth door to the left of the statue of Boris the Bewildered (he's the one who's got his gloves on wrong). The password is "Soap Bubble". Just don't make too much of a mess. You can thank us by learning a couple new Defence spells._

_Happy Christmas,  
G  & F _

"Baths?" said Sirius. "That doesn't sound like much of a gift." 

"I dunno," James mused. "Prefects are supposed to get all kinds of cool perks. I say we check it out. Pete?" 

Peter shrugged. "Sounds good to me." 

"Only not just now," Sirius said with a sudden manic grin, eyes glued to the window. "It's snowing again!" 

The three boys quickly bundled up, Peter taking a reluctant and prolonged farewell of Constantine, and headed down into the grounds. They made a brief detour to the kitchens to acquire a quick and portable breakfast from a smiling Snootles, who merrily wished them all "Happy Christmas" as they took their leave of her. 

Over thirty centimetres of snow had fallen in the night, causing Sirius to become quite demented with joy. Within minutes, they were engaged in an epic life-or-death, every-man-for-himself snow battle, in which _Wingardium Leviosa_ was employed to maximum effect. But alliances shifted along gender lines when the boys caught sight of the Hathersage sisters exiting the castle. 

James went positively green with envy when he saw the new racing broom Cecilia Hathersage carried: a Nimbus 1001. His fingers twitched, longing to close around the smooth handle. The girls had clearly decided to brave the cold for a test flight. Cecilia kicked off from the foot of the stone steps and soared up into the winter air as her sister whooped and cheered from the ground. 

Without so much as a word, the boys moved into position, ducking behind hummocks of snow, carefully-crafted white ammunition in hand. 

"Now!" cried James, when she was directly overhead. 

Three wand-guided snowballs sped upwards to converge on the flying girl, and she shrieked as they pelted her. The boys did not wait to see the results of their handiwork, but bent to the task of preparing more missiles. And that was when Cecilia dive-bombed them. 

She came in low, wand out, skimming the ground, and ushered up a tidal wave of white to engulf them, ice crystals shivering into their ears and down their necks. Sirius gave a cry of shock and hefted another snowball, but his throw went wide. Swinging about, Cecilia swooped at them again, laughing as Peter dove out of her way. 

They were so distracted by the flying girl that they had forgotten about Matilda -- until a barrage of well-aimed snowballs pelted them from behind. Matilda wasn't even bothering with her wand, relying instead on good old-fashioned sneaking and a keen throwing arm. She was a skinny little redheaded thing, but James couldn't help admiring her style a little. 

The snow war escalated as James and Sirius huddled in hurried conference, and blasted Cecilia with a snow-geyser on her next pass. Peter was attempting to hold off Matilda single-handed, but was quickly losing ground. 

"Help me, you tossers!" he shouted to his friends, and they turned as one, and with a wave of wands, buried the girl under a mound of snow. She struggled out a moment later, panting and grinning. 

"My turn, Cecy!" she called to her sister. "You promised!" 

The older girl banked sharply and came around, auburn hair flying, dismounting with a light-footed hop next to Matilda, who grasped the handle and left the ground with a dancing kick. She was even more of a natural in the air than her sister, and James watched, snow war momentarily forgotten, as she swerved and looped, dodging every snowball Sirius and Peter aimed at her. 

A handful of snow square in the back of the head brought him to his senses. He turned around, grinning. 

"You're pretty good," he told Cecilia. 

"Course I am," she said without a hint of arrogance. "I'm Chaser for Gryffindor. As you'd know if you ever came to a match, James Potter." 

"Been busy," said James with a shrug. "You fancy Gryffindor's chances for the cup this year?" 

"They'd be better if we had a decent Seeker." Cecilia's eyes rose to follow her sister, skimming the treetops along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "Mum and Dad say Tildy's not allowed to try out until next year." 

"She's pretty good, too," James allowed. "Of course, having an ace broom helps." 

Cecilia wasn't listening. "Tildy, don't you go anywhere near that Whomping Willow!" she called, and the younger girl banked, giving the tree a wide berth. 

"What's a Whomping Willow doing on school grounds anyway?" asked Sirius, joining them. Lupin's jumper, soaking wet and heavy under his cloak, hung nearly to his knees. 

Cecilia shrugged. "It was only just planted over the summer. I think it's a pet project of Professor Beery's or something." 

"Bloody dangerous, if you ask me," said Peter, joining them. "Sort of thing Dad used to grow." 

"Used to? Did he learn his lesson?" the girl asked. 

"Yeah." Peter looked at his trainers. "Dad was always mucking about with dangerous stuff. Did him in, in the end." 

"Sorry," Cecilia blushed. "I didn't know." 

"S'OK," Peter mumbled. "It was a long time ago. I barely remember him." 

"Way to throw a bucket of ice water on the Christmas spirit, Hathersage," James teased as Matilda lightly touched down beside him. 

"Hi, James," she said, dimpling at him. 

"Hi." He grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Nice flying. Mind if I have a go?" 

"Cecy?" the girl asked, turning to her sister. 

The older girl looked him over, and James ruffled his hair again, trying to make himself look as appealing as possible. 

"Sorry, I don't think so," Cecilia said at last, shaking her head. "C'mon, Tildy. It's getting cold. We'll see you blokes later." 

She took the broom from her sister and turned away, but Matilda hesitated a moment. "See you, James," she said, flashing him a smile, then turned to run after her sister. 

Sirius punched him in the shoulder. "She fancies you, mate!" 

"What's not to fancy?" James grinned, returning the cuff. "Did you see the way she banked that thing?" He whistled. "Merlin! If I could get my hands on a broom like that, I'd be playing for England in a month!" 

"The older one was really good," said Peter. "Pretty, too." His ears went pink. 

"What about you, Black?" James asked. "Fancy either of them?" 

Sirius just shrugged. "Not especially. They're all right, I guess. I've snogged both of them," he added as an obvious afterthought. 

"You never!" cried James, delighted and scandalised. "When?" 

"He did," Peter confirmed. "His sixth birthday. I was there." 

James laughed. "And you call your cousin a tart!" 

They headed back up to Gryffindor tower, soaked to the skin and shivering. Then grabbing a change of clothes and their shower things, they followed the Prewetts' directions to the prefects' baths. 

"Soap Bubble," said James, and the door opened to reveal a room of white marble, glowing under a candlelit chandelier. The tub was huge and deep and surrounded by a hundred jeweled taps that sparkled in the flickering light. There was even a diving board. He elbowed each of his friends, grinning, and knelt on the stone floor to turn as many taps as he could reach. From each one flowed steaming water with a slightly different scent, a slightly different colour. With Sirius and Peter's help at the other taps, the bath began to fill very quickly. 

"C'mon, Pete," said Sirius, grinning wickedly, shrugging out of his cloak and peeling off Lupin's jumper. "Bathing suits are not required!" And he leapt in, bare as an egg, splashing the other two with a tidal wave of scented foam. 

James quickly followed suit, and Peter, not to be outdone, hesitated only a moment before shucking off his own clothes and joining them. They splashed and laughed, wallowed and cavorted, and invented ridiculous diving challenges for one another as the heat flushed their cheeks and feeling came back to their fingers and toes, until they were all quite pruney. 

When they returned to the Gryffindor common room, Sirius hung Lupin's jumper on the hearth to dry. They all agreed that it had been a most satisfactory way to spend an afternoon, and that they really owed the Prewetts a great debt for their thoughtfulness. They nodded off, sprawled across one another on to sofa, and were prodded awake an hour or so later by the Hathersage sisters, who informed them that if they didn't hurry, they'd be late for the Christmas feast. 

"What's that smell?" asked Matilda, glancing around. "Is something burning?" 

Sirius made an inarticulate sound and leapt up to rescue Lupin's smouldering jumper. "It's all right," he assured the others, pulling it over his head. "Just a bit singed." 

None of the boys had had anything to eat since the sticky buns provided by Snootles that morning, and together the five Gryffindors hurried down to the Great Hall. 

The feast did for their insides what the bath had done for the rest of them, filling them with warmth and contentment, not to mention turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and a vast array of puddings. Everyone was in high spirits, including the professors, and James strongly suspected that it wasn't pumpkin juice in their goblets. 

Professor Tynedale got a bit wobbly, and Madam Pomfrey put a hand on her arm, asking if she was quite well. 

"Oh, quite, Poppy," Tynedale replied with a beatific grin, patting Pomfrey's hand. "Never better." 

"Nevertheless," said Pomfrey, with an uncharacteristic smile, "you'll come and see me soon, won't you dear?" 

James glanced at Sirius to see if he had found this exchange at all odd, but Sirius was busy dabbing at a large cranberry sauce stain down his front, so James looked to Peter instead, raising his eyebrows and inclining his head towards the two beaming women. Peter glanced at them and shrugged. _No idea,_ his expression seemed to say. By the time they stumbled up to their room, he was so exhausted by Christmas cheer that he had forgotten the momentary oddness. 

Peter fell onto his bed, mumbling, "Best Christmas ever," and began to snore. 

Sirius, on the other hand, rummaged in his trunk and came out with quill, ink and parchment, bringing them over to flop down beside James on his bed. 

"What're you up to?" James asked dreamily. 

"Thought I'd write to Lupin." 

"Why? We'll see him next week." 

Sirius shrugged uncomfortably. "Just wanted to check and make sure he's OK." 

"Why wouldn't he be?" James turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. 

Sirius looked genuinely troubled. "It was just something -- a couple of weeks ago, I saw -- d'you know Lupin's got scars all over him?" 

"We've all got scars, Black," James said dismissively. 

Sirius shook his head. "Not like this. He's all torn up. Like someone really had a go at him." 

That surprised James. "Like who?" 

"I thought -- maybe Snape," Sirius said. "But some of the scars looked -- I dunno -- old, like he's had them a while." 

"He's got scars on his face, too," said James thoughtfully. "I noticed the first day." 

"So it's got to be someone at home, hasn't it?" Sirius's mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic frown. 

"Maybe," James shrugged. "If they're old, maybe it was something that happened to him a long time ago." 

Sirius shook his head. "Some of them were still sort of pink, like he'd just got them, and I thought -- with him going home all the time --" 

"Does he know that you saw?" 

"Yeah." 

"Did you ask him?" 

"Course I did," Sirius scowled. "He said it was none of my business." 

"Well, that's true, isn't it?" James reasoned. "Just 'cos he's in Gryffindor doesn't make him your problem. If Lupin wanted friends, he'd be friendlier." 

Sirius looked down at the blank parchment. "I wasn't," he said quietly. 

James smiled at that. "Yeah, well, at least he's not a tit about it." 

Sirius cuffed him affectionately. 

"So you're going to write to him?" asked James. "What good'll that do, if someone's slapping him about at home?" 

"None," Sirius admitted with a sigh. He gathered up the parchment, quill and ink, and shoved them onto the nightstand, then settled back, head pillowed on James's full stomach. 

"Am I really your best mate, Potter?" he asked. 

"Who else?" James said comfortably. 

"I've never had a best mate before." Sirius's voice was a sleepy murmur. 

"You've got a brother," said James, looking down at his friend's profile and wondering if this was what it felt like, that closeness of shared blood. 

"This is better," sighed Sirius. A moment later, they were both asleep.


	11. Godric's Own Courage

Remus gave Pettigrew a long-suffering look. "What d'you mean you've got detention again? What did those nutters drag you into this time?" 

As Pettigrew mumbled something about being off school grounds, Remus pressed his fingers against his temples. He hadn't been back in Gryffindor tower more than ten minutes, and already he felt a headache coming on. Whether it was the length of the nights or the cold that clung to his bones, winter full moons were frequently the worst for Remus, and he had not yet fully recovered from the one two nights past. Thank God he hadn't stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays, since his idiotic roommates had apparently chosen that night of all nights to go snooping around his safe house. 

_I shouldn't have come back,_ he thought. _It's getting too complicated._

Being with his family and not having to hide or lie about anything for two whole weeks had been an enormous relief for Remus. He had spent Christmas surrounded by warmth and love and family. 

But not laughter. 

Remus had never really noticed or been bothered by the absence of mirth at home. For a long time after the attack, he hadn't felt much like laughing, and by the time he had recovered as much as he was ever going to, joy had become a stranger to the Lupin family. He and Natalie might share a chuckle over a humorous passage in a favourite book, but full-throated belly-laughs were virtually unknown. 

By contrast, the corridors of Hogwarts rang with laughter, and hardly a day went by without Black, Potter or Pettigrew collapsing in helpless mirth at something one of the others had said or done. Remus found he missed that sort of unrestrained joy. 

And he missed Lily. Of course, at home he had his sister, but now there were things he couldn't talk to her about. One of Remus and Lily's favourite topics of discussion was magical theory. They could happily spend hours discussing the origins of magic, and the ways in which it could be controlled and tamed. But when Remus began to talk of magic with Natalie, much as she claimed to love hearing about it, she could not understand it, and it made them both a little sad to think that she had not yet shown any sign of magical ability. 

Natalie so longed to be a part of the magical world that it made Remus's heart ache for her. He had begged his parents to be allowed to take her to Diagon Alley, and they had reluctantly agreed. There, he had spent all his pocket money on a small, secondhand owl, which Natalie had named Wol after shrieking and hugging Remus for several minutes. 

His mother was worried about him. Sylvia Lupin always worried about her son. When he began to speak of his roommates, she had reminded him of the need to be careful and trust no one, and of what might happen if they ever discovered his secret. And when he spoke of Lily, and sent her an owl on Christmas day, his mother had become downright alarmed. Remus didn't understand until his father had sat him down the next day to explain things. 

"I hoped we wouldn't have to have this talk for a couple of years yet," Marcellus began, looking uncomfortable. "Your mother says you have a girlfriend." 

Remus had blushed, embarrassment squirming in his guts. "She's not -- Lily's just a friend, Dad." 

"Be that as it may," his father continued, "there are some things that are going to start happening over the next few years, and it's probably better if you know about them beforehand." 

His father had explained that Remus needed to be especially careful to maintain control around girls before full moons, because there was a danger that he might hurt them without meaning to. There was also a risk, he was told, that if he "became involved" with a girl, his lycanthropy could end up tainting her. Marcellus had been painfully vague about what any of this meant, but Remus could guess what he was talking about. By the end of the conversation, Remus had decided he would rather go to Potions class in his underwear than suffer through such a mortifying discussion with his father again. He had promised that he would be mindful of the dangers, and that, to both of their very great relief, had been the end of it. 

The full moon had fallen on New Years Eve, and Remus awoke late the next afternoon to find Natalie curled up in her usual place beside him. 

"Happy New Year," she said, smiling. "How do you feel?" 

"Not too terrible," he admitted. It was the first moon since he had started school that he hadn't woken exhausted after dreaming of his fruitless search for the black dog. "What time is it?" 

"Almost teatime. Mum said she'd bring ours in." 

"Tea in bed," he groaned, sitting up painfully. "And company to share it with. I'll miss that when I go back tomorrow." 

"Are you glad to be going back?" she asked. 

Remus thought about it. "I guess so. I'm learning a lot. But I'll miss you." 

"I'll miss you, too. But -- it's good you're making friends. You seem different. Happier." 

He smiled at that. "I dunno about 'friends', but there's Lily at least." 

"There's your roommates, too. You like them. I can tell by the way you talk about them." 

Remus shook his head ruefully. "Maybe so, but Black is a snob, Potter is arrogant, Pettigrew's sort of pathetic, and they all think I'm boring. Probably glad to be rid of me." 

Natalie rolled her eyes. "You're a werewolf! That's not boring." 

"Yeah, well, they don't know that, do they?" Remus pointed out. 

"So?" his sister said, scowling at him. "They don't know everything. If they think you're boring, they're wrong." 

Remus couldn't help grinning. "Thanks. Maybe you should come with me and talk them 'round." 

"I wish I could." She snuggled closer beside him, and he put an arm around her. 

"I wish you could, too, Nat." 

The following morning, he had taken an almost tearful farewell of his family at King's Cross Station, and stumbled, still exhausted, to an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, hoping for at least a couple of hours sleep before arriving back at school. When he awoke, Lily was sitting across from him, reading. 

"Rough holiday?" she had asked, raising her coppery eyebrows. 

Remus stretched, wincing. "Something like that." 

He had thanked her for the Potions theory book she had sent him for Christmas, and apologised for not sending anything in return, but she waved his apology away. When she asked him if he had done anything interesting over the holidays, he told her about his sister and the owl, and definitely not about the conversation with his father. Just thinking about it still made him blush. 

The day had gone rapidly downhill from there. As soon as they arrived back at school, he promptly bumped into Black, Potter and Pettigrew in the entrance hall, heading down to supper. Black's eyes had narrowed at the new scratch on his neck that his robes didn't quite conceal, as if it confirmed all his worst suspicions, and exchanged a significant look with Potter. He had told, after all. 

But apparently Pettigrew still wasn't in on it. "What happened to your neck?" he asked. 

"Cut myself shaving," Remus said acidly. 

"You shave?" Pettigrew sounded awed. 

Remus sighed. "No. Just got on the wrong side of Veteran." 

Even Pettigrew looked dubious at that. All three of his roommates were familiar with the placid disposition of the Lupin family owl. But they let it pass. 

"How's your mum?" Black asked a little sharply. 

It took Remus a second to remember his lie. "She's ill. And she's a Muggle. What do you care, Black?" 

Black's tone was indifferent. "Just curious. Can't I ask after your Mudblood family?" 

The word stung, and Potter shot Black a quelling look the haughty boy didn't appear to notice. Remus, who had almost been considering sitting with his roommates at supper, changed his mind, and veered off to join Lily as usual. He caught Black shooting him a speculative look during the meal, but chose to ignore him. 

When they returned to Gryffindor tower following the meal, there had been a few unpleasant surprises awaiting him. 

The first was the state of his favourite jumper -- the one that had been his father's before Remus was born. It was stained and misshapen and scorched and snagged, and it smelled like -- 

"Black, have you been wearing my jumper?" he asked, incredulous. 

Black shrugged. "It got lonely without you, so we invited it along on a couple of adventures." 

"Well, next time remind it that it's not allowed out without permission," Remus said tartly. The garment would never be the same again, but rowing with Black wouldn't change that. 

The second unpleasant surprise was Pettigrew's new pet. An animal living in the same room with him was not good news for anyone. When he tried to introduce Remus to the ball of fluff which bore the unlikely name of Constantine, the thing squeaked and burrowed into Pettigrew's shirt and refused to come out. 

"What the --?" Pettigrew cried, startled, as he fumbled through his clothing, trying to get a grip on the thing. 

"Better keep it away from me," Remus had informed him. "Animals don't like me." 

"Why not?" Black had asked. 

That lie was an easy one. "Dunno. They just don't." 

And now the third and most unpleasant surprise of all. Detention. For being off school property. For sneaking into Hogsmeade and poking their noses into something that was none of their business. For prying into secrets that could get him expelled and sent home in disgrace. Yes, there was definitely a headache coming on. 

"We only got caught because Pete's such a rubbish lookout," Potter complained. 

"Yeah," said Black, flouncing petulantly onto Remus's bed. "It was Tynedale who knicked us. If you'd been there, you could have just fluttered your eyelashes, and she'd have pinched your cheeks and sent us on our way." 

"Professor Tynedale?" Remus said, surprised. "What was she doing in Hogsmeade in the middle of the night?" 

"Dunno," Potter shrugged. "Probably some New Years do at the pub." 

"But that old place is on the edge of the village. It's not on the way back to the castle." Remus realised his slip and could happily have bitten his tongue clean in two. _Stupid._

"Spent some time in Hogsmeade, have you?" asked Black, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's where I leave from when I go home," Remus hastily invented. 

"We only made Pete lookout because he wouldn't go anywhere near the house," said Potter. 

"Oh, like you're so brave," Pettigrew whined, tired of being out of favour. "You two were making so much noise daring each other to go peek in the windows that I didn't even hear Tynedale coming. You'd need Godric's own courage to go into a place like that." He shuddered. 

Potter made a face. "Are you a Gryffindor or not, mate? At least we looked. Couldn't see anything inside, though. Didn't hear anything, either." 

"I'd've got away if only your stupid jumper hadn't got hung up on a splinter, Lupin," complained Black. "James only got caught because he was helping me get free." The two boys shared a fraternal grin. 

Remus sighed. "How many House points've we lost this time?" 

"Fifty," said Pettigrew glumly. "And detention every night this week." 

"Lovely," said Remus. "I'll have some quiet time to study." 

* * *

It was a relatively quiet week, and between the four of them, they managed to earn back most of the lost House points, though Remus didn't think his own points earned in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts should be counted towards making up his roommates' deficit. 

"Maybe they should consider thumbscrews," he said meditatively the following Saturday. 

Black, who had been grinning at him deviously, clearly planning some new mischief, blinked in confusion. "Eh?" 

"Detention and taking points don't seem to have any effect on you lot," Remus said. "You do your time and make up your points -- or not -- and then you're off on the next caper." 

That made Black laugh. "You're not wrong, Lupin. Dunno that thumbscrews would stop us, though." 

"So what is it this time?" sighed Remus, closing his book and sitting up. He had seen his roommates with their heads together with the Prewett twins over supper again. "Or don't I want to know?" 

Black's grin widened. "I was just going to ask if your jumper could come out tonight. And you in it." 

"It hasn't recovered from its last outing," Remus reminded him. "And what makes you think I would want to come along on one of your 'adventures'?" 

"C'mon, Lupin! Live a little!" Black bounced over onto his bed, causing it to dip alarmingly, and Remus had to shift his position quickly to avoid colliding with the other boy. "The Prewetts are planning this one, and they almost never get caught." 

"And you think they'd want the Most Boring Gryffindor along?" 

"The first step is admitting you have a problem, Lupin," said Black with mock-solemnity. Then the grin was back. "'Boring' is curable. Come with us!" 

"All right," Remus capitulated, remembering what his sister had said. "Just this once." 

* * *

If he had known they were heading into the Forbidden Forest, Remus might not have agreed so quickly. Not that he was afraid; after all, he one of the scary things in the darkness that other people feared. No, it was the name. "Forbidden". As in, "entirely against the rules". As in, "the rules one should really abide by if one is a Dark creature and only able to go to school at all through the goodwill of the headmaster". The forest was completely off limits to students, which was no doubt part of its appeal to his housemates. 

The ground sparkled with frost in the waning moonlight as they hurried, silent as shadows, towards the amorphous blackness of the treeline. 

Pettigrew hung back a moment before plunging into the darkness. "Hope the werewolves have already eaten tonight," he joked weakly. 

Black paused, peering between the trees. "Are there werewolves in the forest? Really?" He sounded more interested than alarmed. 

Gideon snorted. "Why are you lot wittering on about werewolves when it's not even the full moon?" 

"There are plenty of other things in there that would enjoy a mouthful of juicy first year," added Fabian, pinching Pettigrew so that he squeaked. 

"Where do werewolves go when the moon's not full?" wondered Black. 

"Home. I expect," Remus said quietly. 

"Nah," Potter grinned. "I bet they go to wild parties with vampires and veela and things, and argue about who are the tastiest victims." 

Remus was not sure what veela were, but the sentiment made him feel a trifle queasy. His roommates' speculations on the private lives of Dark creatures became wilder and wilder until the Prewetts _shush_ ed them. They were deep in the forest by this time, and the moon cast only the weakest glow between the trees' skeletal branches. 

"Right," whispered Gideon, beckoning them close around him. "What we're looking for is centaur tail hair. It shines in starlight, which makes it easier to find at night." 

"It's dead useful for all kinds of stuff," Fabian explained. "Strengthening potions. Aphrodisiacs." He gave the younger boys a wink, though their lack of appreciative giggles made Remus suspect that the others were not well-read enough to know the word. 

"And," Gideon added, "you can make a bit of extra pocket money selling it on to Ollivander. Seers love a wand with a centaur hair core." 

They split up into pairs for their search, though never far enough to be out of sight or sound of the others. Potter went with Fabian, Black with Gideon, and Remus was left with Pettigrew, who clung to him like an unhappy burr, jumping at every sound. It was a cold night, and the deeper they went into the forest, and the more chilled his fingers became, the more he wished he had not agreed to this particular outing. They were bound to be caught on their way back in, and he was fairly certain centaur hair was not something students were permitted to be in possession of. 

Pettigrew spotted the first hair, and Fabian found the second. 

"We're getting close to their part of the forest," the prefect said in a hushed voice. "Look sharp." 

In the event, it was Remus's ears that picked them up first. Hoofbeats, coming towards them fast and hard. He raised his head, scenting a strong animal smell on the wind. A second later, the others heard it, too, and looked around for the source. 

There were three of them, all males with shaggy winter coats, and they were armed with bows and stern expressions. They stopped at the edge of the clearing when they saw the boys. One of them, a shining palomino, recognised the Prewetts. 

"Why do you bring human foals and creature cubs into our forest, little friends of Hagrid?" His voice was deep and forbidding. 

Remus's heart pounded, and he stepped to the back of their little cluster, where Pettigrew was cowering, to avoid undue notice. It hadn't occurred to him that the denizens of the forest might give him away. _I never should have come here,_ he thought for the dozenth time that night as he watched Gideon surreptitiously stow the collected tail hairs in his sleeve. 

But Pettigrew was too frightened and Potter and Black too fascinated by these unusual beings to wonder at their strange speech. 

"We're teaching the boys about night-blooming plants," Fabian said with deceptive ease. 

"Winter is not the time of growing things," a dappled centaur objected. "Return when Aries rises, if you must come at all." 

The palomino raised his bow. "The forest is not safe tonight. Take your foals back to the castle before they are harmed." 

"What do you hunt, Lach?" asked Gideon. 

"A creature of the deep wood," answered the palomino. "In its own place, it is no enemy of ours, but it has become separated from its colony, and last night, it wounded a foal." 

"Why do we linger to answer their foolish questions?" grumbled the third, dark-coated centaur. "We should hunt while Diana's light is bright. If their fate is to fall victim to the creature, what concern is that of ours?" 

Lach nodded. "Go," he urged the boys, and as one, the three centaurs turned and galloped away into the darkness. 

"Maybe we should." Pettigrew's voice was high and somewhat hysterical. "If there're -- things about." 

"What sort of creature do you think --?" Black began as he and Potter moved to the edge of the clearing to peer into the shadows. 

"C'mon," interrupted Fabian tersely. "Pettigrew's right. We should get out of here." 

The two young pranksters looked at their mentors in surprise, only to see that the older boys had their wands out and were glancing about warily. Remus drew his own wand, and Pettigrew clutched at his sleeve, whimpering softly. 

" _Shhh_ ," he hissed, shaking him off. "We'll be all right." 

With quickened, quiet steps, they turned back towards the castle, Fabian in the lead with Remus and Pettigrew just behind him. Potter and Black followed, still looking more excited than scared, urged along by Gideon who brought up the rear. The forest all looked the same to Remus, and he devoutly hoped that the Prewetts knew where they were going. All his senses were on the alert, and there was no room in him for fear. If he only knew what it was they were watching for -- 

"Stop," he said softly, too focussed on listening to be surprised when the others instantly heeded his command. 

For several seconds, no one moved or breathed. 

"I don't hear --" Potter began, but Remus held up a hand to silence him. 

There. A scuttling sound, somewhere off to their right. He stared into the darkness, wishing werewolves had better eyesight in addition to keen senses of smell and hearing. 

"Lupin," Fabian said, "what --?" 

Pettigrew shrieked. A large black shape with far too many legs broke away from the shadows and rushed towards them at alarming speed. 

With no time to think, Remus shoved Pettigrew out of the way and stepped between him and the oncoming creature. " _Stupefy!_ " 

The spell hit the creature with such force that it flipped over, landing on its back, legs quivering in the air. 

There was a moment of stunned silence in which Remus could hear nothing but his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart. 

Gideon whistled. "Good show, Lupin!" 

"Quick thinking, mate!" said Potter, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Everything felt distant and unreal, and Remus wondered dimly if he was in shock. He turned to Pettigrew and offered a hand to help him to his feet. "You all right?" he asked. 

"Think so," said Pettigrew, still staring at the stunned creature and vaguely moving his hands to dust himself off. "Thanks." 

"Yeah," said Black. "Not bad for a Mudblood." 

The tension that had held Remus in its grip snapped, and he whirled on the boy, eyes blazing. "I don't ever want to hear you use that word again, Black!" 

Black took a step back, startled. The others tensed uncertainly. Then, to Remus's surprise, Black grinned and bowed to him. "Whatever you say, Lupin." 

Fabian cautiously approached the stunned monster. "Acromantula. _Eugh!_ " he shuddered. 

"My brother dislikes spiders," Gideon informed them. 

"Loathes," Fabian corrected, retreating back to where the rest of them stood. "Your brother loathes spiders." 

They were interrupted by hoofbeats, and the hunting party reappeared out of the trees. 

"What are you still doing in the forest, wizard foals?" Lach demanded. Then he caught sight of the creature. "Which of you has done this?" he asked, looking back and forth between the Prewetts. 

The twins looked at Remus, who suddenly very much wished he was invisible. 

Lach stepped forwards to stand over him. "The centaurs owe you a debt of thanks, cub. Should you tire of human company, the forest is yours to roam, so long as you harm none." 

"Thanks," Remus muttered. 

The centaur hesitated. "You should not hide yourself behind that human face." 

"Dunno what you mean," mumbled Remus, staring at the ground and wishing it would swallow him. He could feel the others staring at him. 

"As you will," said the centaur. 

He and the others trotted away to bend their heads over the fallen monster. Remus, eyes still fixed on the ground, could hear the centaurs arguing about whether it was honourable to kill it while it was defenceless. Any moment now, the questions would start. 

Black was the first to speak, but to Remus's surprise, he only said, "Sounds like you managed to impress them, Lupin. They don't think a human could have done it! What do they think you are? A goblin?" 

As they left the forest, Remus breathed a tentative sigh of relief. 

Pettigrew gushed about how Remus had saved his life. "I owe you one, mate! If there's ever anything I can do --" 

"What could you do?" Potter laughed. 

"I could do something!" Pettigrew insisted hotly. "Maybe not save his life, but there could be other stuff." 

"Too bad we didn't find more hairs," said Black. "Only two. Hardly seems worth the trouble." 

Gideon shrugged. "It wasn't a total loss. We still had an adventure, and we learned something new," he said, winking at Remus. 

"Lupin's in the gang," declared Fabian. "Anyone who can stun an Acromantula at twenty paces gets my vote." 

"What say you, Lupin?" said Gideon. "We could use a man of your talents. You OK to come along with us sometimes?" 

Remus felt a bit overwhelmed by so much acceptance and goodwill all at once. He nodded, a small, unaccustomed glow burning in the pit of his stomach.


	12. Moment of Truth

"I've been thinking of having it in the afternoon so Severus can come, too," said Lily. 

"What?" Remus looked up from the Potions essay he had been trying to focus on for the last hour. For a moment, he couldn't recall what she was talking about. "Oh, your birthday?" 

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yes, Remus. My birthday. Sunday. The only way Severus can come is if it's before supper." 

Remus tried and failed to imagine Severus Snape being at all comfortable in the inner sanctum of Gryffindor tower, regardless of the circumstances. "Yeah," he said sceptically. "That's -- er -- a good idea." 

The two of them were spending their free Friday afternoon getting caught up on various assignments in the Gryffindor common room; Remus because the moon would be full the following night, and Lily so that she would have some extra free time on her birthday. The increasingly-rowdy game of Exploding Snap perpetrated by Remus's roommates and Matilda Hathersage in the far corner was not helping his frazzled state of mind. He wasn't sure how he was going to pull off a Potions essay, a full moon and a birthday party all in one weekend, but there was no help for it. With any luck, it would be an easy moon, and he would be recovered enough to at least sit quietly in the common room during the festivities. 

"When's your birthday, Remus?" asked Lily. 

"Oh. It's -- er --" Remus hadn't celebrated a birthday since his sixth, and didn't especially want to start commemorating that particular date now. Every time March tenth rolled around, he felt a little ill. _Just tell her a day,_ he chided himself. _It doesn't matter when._ But it did matter, because once he told her, he would have to remember it, too. "September," he blurted out, giving the calendar-opposite date of his actual birthday. "September tenth." 

She looked at him quizzically. "But -- aren't you eleven?" 

"Yeah." 

"Oh. I just thought you had to be eleven already before you could start school." 

_Oops._ No help for it now. He shrugged. 

They worked -- or tried to, in Remus's case -- in silence for a few minutes longer, until, with a _bang_ and a loud whoop, several scorched playing cards rained down on them. 

"Will you lot please keep it down?" Lily snapped over the back of the sofa. 

"If you're going to be boring, that's what the library's for, Evans," Potter called back without looking up. 

"Maybe we should," Remus sighed as Lily scowled at his roommates' backs. "I can't focus on anything with that racket going on." 

"Maybe." Lily pursed her lips disapprovingly. 

Remus rolled up his barely-started essay and got up, casting a longing look at the sofa. "I just wish the library had better chairs. Those wooden ones make my arse go numb after half an hour." 

"Yeah," said Lily, gathering up her things and shoving them into her bookbag. "C'mon, then." 

They exited the portrait hole and descended the long staircase, but when Remus turned right as usual, Lily said, "This way," and headed in the opposite direction down a corridor Remus had never visited before. 

"Aren't we going to the library, then?" Remus asked. 

Lily glanced at him, an oddly-familiar twinkle in her eye. It was an expression he had seen many times before -- on the faces of James Potter and Sirius Black. Never from studious, rule-abiding Lily Evans. "I know somewhere better. But you have to promise not to tell anyone." 

"Your secrets are safe with me," he assured her, intrigued. 

After a few more twists and turns, they found themselves in a part of the school which had clearly been out of use for some time. Not even the house-elves could be bothered with it. Cobwebs heavy with dust clung to the stones, and the few windows that relieved the darkness were coated with grime. Lily paused at the fourth door on the left and tapped it lightly with her wand. It opened with a creak. 

"Welcome to my refuge," she said with a grin. 

The room was laid out like an old-fashioned parlour, with a fireplace, a plush Turkish carpet, and several comfortable-looking -- if dusty -- chairs. The walls were lined with shelves largely empty of books, but the few remaining tomes all bore titles in Latin and Greek. 

"Where are we?" Remus asked in a hushed voice. 

"I think these rooms used to belong to the professor of Magical Linguistics, back when Hogwarts offered it," said Lily smugly. "Sev and I found it just after Christmas. We thought it would be a brilliant place to study where no one could bother us." 

_He's going to love that you brought me here,_ thought Remus. "Are you sure we're allowed to be here?" 

Lily's grin would have been much better suited to Black's wide mouth, Remus thought. "There's no rule against us being here," she said. "No one's using it, and it wasn't locked. At least, not very well." 

"You're as bad as my roommates," he laughed. "Who are you and what have you done with Lily Evans?" 

"It's more comfortable than the library and quieter than the common room," she pointed out. "And it'll stay that way so long as no one else knows about it." 

Remus flopped onto the sofa, raising a puff of dust. "Know any good cleaning charms?" he sneezed. 

"I looked up one especially for dust yesterday," she said, pointing her wand at the sofa. " _Detergeo_." 

With a soft _ffup_ , the sofa turned from a dingy shade of olive to a rich emerald green plush. 

"Oh, that's better!" said Remus, as Lily applied the charm to the rest of the furniture. 

He dragged a low table over to the sofa and laid out parchment, quill, ink and his Potions book. 

Lily sat down beside him. "Maybe now we can get some real work done." 

But it was no good. At least, not for Remus. He could hear Lily breathing. The crackle of turning pages and the scratch of quill on parchment grated on his frayed nerves. His pulse throbbed in his ears and behind his eyes, and the words on the page in front of him ran together into nonsensical jumbles of letters. He tried sounding out the words of the text one by one in his head, but by the time he got to the end of a sentence, he couldn't recall where it had begun. He wrote a few words of his own, and then scratched them out, shaking his head. 

At last, he sighed, slamming the book shut. "It's no bloody use!" he declared. 

Lily paused in the act of reaching for another sheet of parchment, startled. "What's the matter?" 

"Dunno," he lied. "I just can't concentrate right now." 

She cocked her head, looking at him. "Are you feeling all right, Remus? You look a bit flushed." 

"I'm fine," he said shortly as she laid a cool hand against his forehead. "I just need to be doing something else right now." 

"Like what?" she asked, brows lowering in concern. 

The truth was that he had no idea what, but her hand felt good on his forehead, and her other hand rested lightly on his arm, and her mouth, with its pout of worry was very close to his, and without even realising what he was doing, he kissed her. 

He counted three pulsebeats in his ears as they remained absolutely motionless and his brain struggled to catch up with what was happening. And then he jerked away. 

"Oh," said Lily softly, green eyes wide. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, turning away and fumbling with his essay. His face felt hot. "Dunno what I -- sorry." 

Her hand was still resting on his arm. "I didn't mind." 

He looked up at her, eyes troubled. "Lily, it's not -- I don't -- Oh, hell!" he said, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "Dad was right." 

"Remus, what --?" 

"No," he said, standing abruptly. "No. Sorry. I have to go." He fled, leaving books and writing implements behind with his bewildered friend. 

When he was certain he wasn't followed, Remus paused to catch his breath. Where could he go? Gryffindor tower and the library were the first two places she would look for him. He considered going to the passage under the Whomping Willow, and staying in his safe house until the full moon had passed. He considered abandoning Hogwarts altogether and going home. 

What had he been thinking, doing a thing like that? He had no business kissing Lily. She was a friend. He didn't even think about her that way. But she was soft and kind and so close! And he had this stupid animal living in his brain that made him do stupid things like kissing people he shouldn't. 

Remus pressed his heated forehead against the cool, rough stone of the wall, feeling more like bashing his brains out against it. It was his bloody father's fault, putting those thoughts in his head with that humiliating talk over the holidays. He'd never been like this before. Or if he had, there hadn't been anyone close enough at the right -- or wrong -- moment. His father's fumbled explanation of feelings and their consequences certainly seemed to describe the problem. Unfortunately, Marcellus Lupin hadn't given his son any clue as to what he ought to do about it. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly, before he wrecked one of the only good things that had ever happened to him. 

He made himself take several deep, calming breaths. Answers. Answers to questions about werewolves. Remus needed books. He trusted books. They had never failed him. Books were full of answers. Books like the ones in Madam Pomfrey's office. Like the one with the really embarrassing chapter. 

* * *

Remus stumbled blearily back to Gryffindor tower at lunchtime on Sunday feeling exhausted, sore, sick and utterly mortified. He had managed to avoid Lily for the remainder of Friday and most of Saturday, sitting with his roommates at meals, and disappearing behind his bedcurtains with his Potions essay and _A Treatise on Growth and Development in Juvenile Werewolves_ the rest of the time. 

The _Treatise_ had been even worse than he had imagined, in terms of embarrassing detail, and had unfortunately offered only two practical solutions to his problem. The first he was already intimately familiar with, but clearly that was not doing the trick, no matter how vigorously he applied himself. The second was meditation, but with the roiling mess his thoughts were already in, he had found clearing his mind nearly impossible. If he was going to master the discipline required, he would have to start after he had recovered from the full moon. 

It had been one of Remus's worst nights in a long time. He had been disgracefully sick when he first woke up in the old house, and had spent the morning in the hospital wing, shivering uncontrollably. A claw had gouged deep into the muscle of his left thigh, and one of his toes had had to be reattached. He wouldn't have any feeling in it for months. 

To make matters worse, when Madam Pomfrey had come to check on him at noon and found him awake, she delicately mentioned that she had "noticed a little chafing" when she was fixing him up that morning, and presented him with a jar of some slippery potion and the instructions -- thankfully simple and out of common ingredients -- for making more. 

"I don't mean to embarrass you, Mr Lupin," she had said matter-of-factly. "It's perfectly normal for a boy of your age, but I think you'll find that a little lubrication is -- helpful." 

He had mumbled some sort of thanks -- all the while wondering what god could be so cruel as to make him live through such a moment after everything else that had happened in his lifetime -- and had insisted that he was well enough to return to his own bed. The matron had eyed his shaking hands dubiously as he pulled on his robes, but had allowed him to go. 

_I just need a couple of hours sleep before the party,_ he told himself. _After that, I can think about the bloody essay. And then maybe, if I have time, I can die of humiliation._

* * *

If it hadn't been held in the Gryffindor common room, and if there hadn't been cake and punch, Sirius probably would not have bothered with Lily Evans's birthday party. It wasn't a grand affair, since most of the older students hardly bothered learning the names of their first and second year Housemates. The first year girls, including snobby Venice Corbet and her best friend Elswith More, were engaged in a game of Gobstones with the birthday girl, as was round-faced second year Alice Finch. Severus Snape huddled sulkily in a chair by the fire, black eyes flicking mistrustfully from face to face. 

James and Peter, too, had been lured in by the promise of food, and had stayed to hear the latest gossip from the Prewetts. 

"Amelia Bones thinks there's something going on between Madam Pomfrey and Professor Tynedale," said Gideon, raising his eyebrows significantly. 

"Like what?" asked James, half-listening as he motioned his knight to take Peter's rook. 

"Like that they're involved," said Fabian. 

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Involved? You mean, with each other?" 

The twins nodded. 

James and Peter looked up in surprise, chess game forgotten. 

"Oh, Merlin!" breathed Peter, eyes glowing. "Do you really think so?" 

"Amelia said that she saw Tynedale leaving Pomfrey's private office when she went up to make a delivery the other day, and that both of them looked really pleased about something," Gideon informed them. 

"Right," said Fabian. "Who ever looks happy about visiting the hospital wing? I don't think I've seen Pomfrey crack a smile since she started here." 

"So you think they're --?" James said, searching for the word. 

"Lesbians," confirmed Fabian. "It's a popular theory." 

"Wow," Peter said dreamily. "That'd be brilliant." 

James snorted. "Maybe if Pomfrey weren't so dumpy and Tynedale wasn't terminally boring." 

"There's no accounting for taste," sniggered Sirius as Peter blushed. 

"So we're going to keep an eye on both of them for a bit," continued Gideon. "See if the rumour warrants further investigation." 

"You lads should be on the lookout, too," Fabian added. "If you see anything odd, let us know." 

"Like Tynedale being in the village on New Years, when she knicked us?" Sirius asked. 

Fabian shrugged. "Maybe. Dunno how that ties in to the theory, but it's definitely unusual." 

"They were -- at the Christmas feast --" James began, brow furrowing as he tried to remember. 

"Yeah?" said Gideon, leaning forwards interestedly. 

"I think they were -- flirting. With each other. They were -- sort of giggly, and then Pomfrey touched Tynedale's arm, and said something about her stopping by for a visit." 

The Prewetts exchanged a look, eyebrows raised. "That's definitely evidence, Potter. Well spotted." 

Sirius frankly found all this speculation about the private lives of the Hogwarts staff boring, even if it was about two birds together, an eventuality which would certainly have scandalised his parents. 

"I'm gonna see if there's anymore cake," he announced, getting up. 

On the way to the refreshments table, he was intercepted by the birthday girl, and she didn't look pleased. Snape trailed behind her like a grim shadow. 

"Where is he?" Evans demanded. 

"Who?" said Sirius distractedly, peering past them in time to see the last piece of cake snapped up and devoured by a seventh year. 

" _Remus_ ," she snapped, impatient. "Is he avoiding me? I've barely seen him in two days." 

Sirius glanced at her, surprised. "He's not back yet, far as I know." 

"Back?" Evans blinked. "From where?" 

"He went home again last night. To see his mum." 

She looked utterly dismayed. "But -- he would have told me if he was going to miss my birthday!" 

Sirius shrugged. "When does he ever tell anyone anything?" 

"Just goes to show what kind of friend he is," muttered Snape. 

"Shut it, Sev!" Evans snapped, a dangerous glint in her eye. "I don't want to hear it right now. When you see him, Black, you tell him I want a word." 

"Sure," said Sirius, wondering why girls had to make such a fuss over everything. "Is there anymore punch?" 

* * *

At supper that evening, Sirius's roommates and the Prewetts were delighted to see Madam Pomfrey put in a rare appearance in the Great Hall, and, even better, sit beside the Defence mistress at the staff table. He listened to the others' speculation, and agreed that the two women looked companionable with their heads bent together, but his friends' fascination baffled him. He knew in an abstract sort of way that the day would come when he would go soft in the head over girls, too, but thankfully it hadn't happened yet. Until it did, he was just going to have to suffer through his friends' bouts of boringness. 

When he had eaten his fill, and it was clear to him that the others had no intention of budging so long as their quarry was in sight, he left the table, disgusted, and headed back up to Gryffindor tower. 

The dormitory was dark when he entered, but not silent. Sirius thought he heard a muffled sob from the bed nearest the door. Tugging back the hangings to peek inside, and found his missing roommate curled into a tight ball beneath the covers, his back to Sirius. 

"Oh," he said. "You're back." 

Lupin didn't uncurl or turn his head. "What time is it?" he asked hoarsely. 

"About half seven," Sirius told him. 

"Oh, bollocks!" moaned Lupin into his pillow. "I've missed it, haven't I?" 

"Yeah." Sirius couldn't help being a little amused. "Don't think I've ever heard you swear before, Lupin." 

Lupin ignored him. "Was she upset?" 

"A bit," Sirius admitted. "Said she wanted a word when you got back. You all right, mate?" 

"Fine. I've just got a headache." 

There was a knock at the door. Sirius had the presence of mind to tug the bed hangings closed before he answered it. 

"Is he back?" Evans asked without preamble. 

"Shove off, Evans," Sirius said rudely. "He's ill and he doesn't want to talk to you right now." 

"He'd better be," she snapped, voice shrill. "You tell him that -- that I don't think much of the way he treats his friends." 

"I'll pass it along," Sirius told her. "Good night, Evans." 

He shut the door in her startled face. A moment later, he heard her footsteps retreating down the spiral staircase. 

"You shouldn't've done that," said a grumpy voice from behind the bed hangings. 

Sirius pushed them aside again and sat down on the bed next to Lupin, leaning back against the headboard. "Why? Did you want to talk to her?" 

There was a long pause from his tightly-curled roommate. "Maybe not just now." 

"Lupin -- Remus," Sirius said tentatively, "are you OK?" 

"Told you. I have a headache." 

"That's not what I meant. Ever since I -- well, I just want to know that you're all right." 

Dozens of times over the past several weeks, Sirius's mind had wandered back to Lupin's scars. He had no idea what sort of hex could inflict that kind of damage, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. His own parents had struck him more times than he cared to recall, and on a few occasions had locked him in the cellar overnight, but they had never left a mark on him. The only conclusion Sirius could reach was that someone, somewhere, was hurting his quiet roommate, and that was unacceptable. 

"Shouldn't worry about me," Lupin mumbled into the pillow. "I'll be fine. Except for failing Potions because I haven't finished that bloody essay." 

"Remus --" 

The other boy's shoulders tensed defensively. "What?" 

Sirius took a deep breath. "I don't think -- I mean, we're not going to be best mates or anything, like me and James are. Not with you being such a moody tosser --" 

A sound that might almost have been a snort emanated from the lump in the bed. 

"-- but we all have to live together, don't we?" Sirius continued. "Shouldn't we at least try to be friends?" 

"Even though I'm a filthy half-blood who's as boring as Binns and everything I own is rubbish?" There was a wary note in Lupin's voice. 

"Even if you're secretly a Muggle and a Slytherin." 

"You do realise that makes no sense, don't you, Black?" Lupin's voice held a definite hint of amusement now. 

Sirius looked down at the tightly curled form and wondered if he was about to get himself blasted halfway across the room again. "I'm 'Sirius' to my friends," he said quietly, laying a hand on Lupin's shoulder. 

There was a pause, and then an answering hand burrowed its way out of the bedclothes to rest on top of Sirius's, giving it a small squeeze. "Thanks -- Sirius. I'll remember that." 

Settling himself more comfortably onto the bed, Sirius asked, "So now that we're friends, do you want to tell me what's going on with you and Evans?" 

"What makes you think there's anything going on?" Lupin's voice was suddenly a little sharper. 

Sirius snorted. "She comes by here Friday to return your bookbag with the oddest look on her face, asks where you are, and says you scarpered from the library like you'd just seen a Grim. You hide out up here half the weekend, and then you ditch her birthday party without telling her. Either there's something going on, or you're the weirdest bloke alive." 

Lupin sighed. "I -- sort of -- kissed her." 

Sirius groaned. "Not you, too, mate! Seems like every bloke I know has gone completely mental over girls this week." 

"'M not mental," objected Lupin. "Dunno why I did it. Don't even like her that way." 

"Have fun explaining that to her," Sirius smirked. "I'll do a lot for a friend, but you're on your own there, mate, and I don't think 'sorry' is going to cut it." 

"Probably not," Lupin said glumly. 

* * *

When he awoke the following morning, Remus felt much better. Aside from the lump of icy dread in the pit of his stomach, that is. Pleased as he was that Sirius thought highly enough of him to seek out his friendship -- and stunned as he was to discover that that new friendship extended to finishing his Potions essay for him while he slept -- it didn't make up for the fact that he might lose the first and best friend he had made at Hogwarts. 

At breakfast, Lily turned up her nose, refusing to speak to him, and went to sit with the other girls from their year, leaving Remus in more masculine company. She refused to partner with him in Defence Against the Dark Arts or Charms, and his performance suffered, not because he was working with Sirius, who was fed up with his friends' absurd speculations about Professor Tynedale and Madam Pomfrey, but because he could think of nothing but what he would say to Lily, if she ever gave him the chance. 

Lunch was much the same as breakfast, and Transfiguration that afternoon was no better than his morning classes. 

"Go talk to her, mate," hissed Sirius, beginning to get annoyed at his distraction. "Before you transfigure your hand into a bludger and accidentally beat yourself to death." 

"Five points from Gryffindor for talking in class, Mr Black," said Professor McGonagall as Remus glanced over at Lily for the thousandth time that day. 

Part of him wondered if he shouldn't just let Lily go. Friendship meant caring and emotions and reactions. What if he couldn't have that, and have control, too? But the way she had reached out to a lonely, homesick boy, and had cared about what he thought and felt had been one of the sweetest experiences of Remus's young life, and he couldn't give that up -- not without a fight. 

The only problem was that there was only one way he could think of to fix things, and that was to tell her the truth. 

The thought of spilling his secret to another person made him break out in a cold sweat. He had to tell her, he knew, but every moment until he did so, he had to make that choice again and again. 

_She's clever,_ he kept telling himself, _and she's Muggleborn. She doesn't have werewolf prejudice._

After class, he didn't bother to go looking for her in Gryffindor tower or the library; he knew where she would be. 

The fourth door on the left in the dusty, abandoned corridor was locked. He knocked. 

"Lily, can I talk to you?" 

There was a click and the door opened a crack. 

"I'm busy, Remus." Her voice was sharp-edged with anger. "I took yesterday off. Because it was my birthday." 

He winced at the cut of her tone. "I know, Lily. I'm sorry. Will you at least let me explain?" 

"I'm listening," she said shortly. 

He sighed. "Let me in, at least. I don't want to talk about it out here." 

With a huff of impatience, she swung the door open to reveal Snape occupying a chair by the fireplace. 

"It's getting to be like Diagon Alley in here," he commented drily. "What with people who aren't even friends enough to come to your birthday being allowed in now." 

Remus made a valiant effort at civility. "I need to talk to Lily alone, Severus. Please." 

"I'm not leaving unless she tells me to," said Snape flatly. 

"Go, Sev," Lily ordered, eyes never leaving Remus. "And if I catch you listening at the keyhole, I'll hex your ears so full of earwax, you'll be able to taste it." 

Scowling, Snape slammed his book shut and shoved it into his bag, pushing rudely past Remus on his way out. Lily closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, arms folded, glaring at him. 

"Well?" 

"I think -- maybe we should sit down," said Remus. 

They moved to the plush green sofa and sat before Remus realised his mistake. They were back in the exact spot where they had kissed, three days before. Remus suddenly felt extremely awkward. 

"So what are you going to explain?" asked Lily belligerently. "Why you kissed me? Why you ran off? Why you decided to skip my birthday?" 

"All of that." He was having a very hard time meeting her eyes. _Deep breaths, Lupin._ "Lily -- I -- I'm a werewolf." 

He counted five seconds of total silence before she said, "Bollocks." 

"No, I am. I --" 

"I cannot believe you came down here just to mess me about!" she burst out, leaping up from the sofa to glare at him. "To act like that, and then make a joke of it -- that's low, Lupin. That's the kind of thing I'd expect from your roommates, but not from you." 

He set his jaw, willing himself to hold her gaze. "Does that sound like the sort of thing I'd make up, Lily? Look --" 

Kicking off his trainers, he peeled his socks off and yanked his trousers up to his knees, exposing the mangled and scarred flesh of his shins and calves, and the bruised, raw mess of his reattached toe. His hands shook. He had never felt so exposed and vulnerable as he did under that blank green stare. 

"Remus," she said, shocked, "what --?" 

"I did that." His tone was sharper and more bitter than he had intended. "Every full moon, I have to lock myself up and tear myself half to pieces to keep from hurting anyone else." 

She was shaking her head, denying, disbelieving, still staring at his ruined flesh. 

"Which days did I miss class?" he demanded. "What day was yesterday? Do you want me to get you a lunar calendar?" 

Her eyes rose to his, and she slowly lowered herself into the chair across from him. "How long --?" she asked softly. 

"Since I was six," he said, letting go of the cuffs of his trousers so that they fell back down to cover his legs once more. "I've had to lie and hide from everyone. They hate werewolves -- wizards do. Dumbledore fixed it so I could go to school, but Lily, you can't tell anyone. Not ever. If they found out, I'd be sent home, and it would be the end of me being a wizard or having any kind of a normal life. Promise me, Lily --" 

A lump in his throat choked off the rest of his words and hot tears slid down his cheeks. 

"Oh, Remus," cried Lily, sliding back onto the sofa and gathering him into her arms. "I promise. Of course I promise. Hush, now. You're safe. I won't let them hurt you. Not ever." 

She was weeping, too, her cheek resting against the crown of his head, his face pressed against her shoulder as they shook and clung to one another, and Remus didn't think he had ever been so happy or loved anyone so much in his entire life. 

That feeling lasted approximately five minutes before Lily sniffled and said, "But, Remus, that doesn't explain -- why did you kiss me? Do you --?" 

He pulled away from her, sniffing and wiping his face on his sleeve. "No, it's -- God, this is embarrassing." 

"Tell me," she said, taking his hand between hers. 

He had thought his face couldn't get any redder, but he was wrong. "Werewolves -- we -- right before the full moon -- there are all these hormones and things, and it's really hard to focus. And you're really nice and pretty and I've been so grateful to have you for a friend, and I think I just -- got confused for a minute." 

"So you don't -- like me." 

"Not like that, no." He shook his head, squeezing her hand. "But there are all kinds of other ways that I absolutely love you, Lily. You're brilliant." 

She went pink at that. "I love you, too, Remus," she said. "But -- don't kiss me again unless you mean it." 

"I won't," he promised. "There's meditation and stuff I can do for control and focus. I was hoping -- maybe you wouldn't mind if I did that here sometimes? It's nice to have quiet." 

"If you promise to keep your socks on," she said with a slow, teasing smile. "You have the ugliest feet I've ever seen."


	13. Champion

"It's all down to me, really," said Sirius, hefting a tray of sausage rolls in one hand and wondering how many he could get away with eating before they got back to Gryffindor tower. 

"Sure," teased James, trying to balance his own tray of fairy cakes on his head, before realising what a bad idea that was. "It's all because you're the most brilliant mate in the entire world." 

Sirius stuck out his tongue at his friend, righting the tray just in time before the meat pastries could slide onto the dusty stone floor. "I'm your best mate," he reminded the other boy. "Said so yourself. And he's happier, isn't he?" 

"If you eat any more of those, there won't be any left by the time we get back, and then how happy will he be?" said James. 

Sirius ignored him, popping another pastry into his mouth and talking around it. "It was me who convinced him we should be friends. It was me who told him to sort things out with Evans. It was me who did his Potions essay for him. And he almost got a perfect mark on that. Saw it on Friday when Slughorn handed 'em back." 

"I still can't believe he turned that in." 

Sirius looked smug. "What else could he do? He's rubbish at Potions, and he'd only finished a third of it. I'll have him do one of mine sometime to make it up to me. History of Magic or something." 

James allowed that that was only fair as he intercepted another sausage roll on its way to Sirius's mouth and popped it into his own. In retaliation, Sirius stole a cake. 

"Good thing I rescued him in time, too," he continued. "Evans was turning him into a _girl_. I caught them hugging the other day. Without our manly influence, he'd be lost." 

James laughed. "By your reckoning, mate, they wouldn't even be friends anymore if you hadn't stepped in. What does he see in her, anyway? I mean, all right, the hair's nice enough, but she's skinny and she studies all the time and she doesn't even like Quidditch." 

"Well, Remus studies all the time, too," Sirius reasoned. "And I don't think he's ever even been to a Quidditch match." 

"That's just not right," said James, shaking his head. "We've got to fix that." 

"And now we can, thanks to me," Sirius said triumphantly, "because we're mates." 

"It's the least we can do," muttered James, peering around the next corner for any sign of Peeves or Pringle. "He did teach us that Noodle-Arms jinx. Whadoyoucallit? The one that makes it so they can't raise their wand?" 

" _Bracchia Languida_ ," supplied Sirius. It had impressed Professor Tynedale so much when she had asked if anyone could demonstrate any other neutralising spells that she had awarded them ten House points apiece. 

"Right. That one." 

Sirius bit his lip. "I just wish there was something we could do to help him with -- you know." 

"Sure," James said. "But what? Tell Dumbledore? What can he do if it's not happening at school?" 

"Maybe the Ministry --" 

James weighed the possibility. "But who? You want to just start at the top and work our way down? ' _Dear Minister: My mate's parents are knocking him about, and I was just wondering if you could have a word with them?_ '" 

Sirius punched him in the arm that wasn't occupied with cakes. 

"You know he wouldn't thank us for interfering," said James more seriously. 

"I know," Sirius sighed as they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Salazar's Pink Knickers." 

The portrait swung open, and they and their burdens were joyously received by the Prewetts and by Peter, who was in the middle of a chess game with Remus, and wore a paper crown. 

"Happy birthday, mate," James grinned, presenting the short, blond boy with the tray of cakes. "First choice is yours." 

Sirius set his own tray down on the table next to the chess board. Glancing at the game in progress, he was surprised to note that Remus had lost almost as many pieces as Peter had, and that Peter's remaining bishop was shooting threatening glances at Remus's king. 

"You're not letting him win just because it's his birthday, are you?" Sirius asked. 

Remus shook his head. "I'm teaching him how to beat Potter." 

"Never happen, mate," said James, squishing himself into a space on the sofa between Gideon and Peter. 

"Remus says you always lead with your queen's bishop, and that if I can just remember to --" 

Remus _shush_ ed him. "Don't give your game away, Pete. Just beat him next time and make me proud." 

The Prewetts had been waiting for James and Sirius to return from the kitchens before presenting their contributions to the refreshments. They had been to Hogsmeade the day before, and had returned with a butterbeer for each of them, half a dozen of the ever-popular chocolate Chocolate Frog, and -- 

"Fizzing Whizbees!" cried Peter, eyes lighting up. 

He immediately began handing out the sweets to his friends. They were getting too big for the candy to make them fly properly anymore, but it was still fun to float a bit, and to leap halfway across the common room in a single bound, though Fabian had to perform a quick evasive manoeuvre at one point to keep Peter from ending up in the fire. 

Remus, who had been acting almost normal until then, refused to touch the flying sweets. As Sirius watched, the carefully blank expression fell across his face like a veil. 

"You all right, mate?" he asked in an undertone. 

Remus merely nodded, eyes swept down, and reached for a Chocolate Frog instead. He didn't rejoin the conversation when the floating had died down, though he raised his butterbeer along with the others when the Prewetts proposed a toast. 

"To Peter," Fabian intoned solemnly, "most senior among our first years. May he laugh long and loudly, and at the expense of others." 

"To Peter!" the others declared, clinking their bottles together. 

Peter's ears and nose went pink. He loved being made a fuss of. _Unlike some,_ thought Sirius, eyes flicking back to Remus. 

The topic of conversation shifted to the Shrieking Shack, which the Prewetts had been to see at while they were in Hogsmeade, but Remus did not emerge from his silence. Gideon and Fabian had gone with Amelia Bones to look in through the cracks between the boards that covered the windows, but they had had no better luck than Sirius, James and Peter had on their ill-fated New Years adventure. 

"Couldn't see more than a couple of the downstairs rooms," said Gideon. "We tried to get in, but it's shut up tight. Maybe even by magic." 

"Why anyone would go to the trouble of protecting a bunch of broken furniture is beyond us," said Fabian. 

"Maybe they're breeding prize-winning dust bunnies," suggested Gideon, and all the younger boys giggled appreciatively except Remus. 

"It's not haunted, though," Fabian told them. "Amelia has this spell for detecting spirits, and there aren't any at that end of town." 

Gideon shrugged. "It's a mystery, but it's not a very interesting one. Probably just someone's party house, and they've started the haunting rumours to keep unwelcome visitors out." 

With that conclusion drawn, the boys returned to discussing their current favourite subject of investigation: the putative romance between the school matron and the Defence mistress. 

_As if that's any more interesting,_ thought Sirius petulantly. 

He wondered if all mysteries were so mundane once their secrets were brought to light. Like Remus. What happened to him at home was an awful shame, of course, but it wasn't very mysterious. Sirius didn't even see much point in questioning him about it anymore. Remus wasn't going to talk, and Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to know about it if he did. 

_He's safe when he's here, at least._ Only time would solve the rest of Remus's problems. 

* * *

In the weeks since Sirius had extended the olive branch of friendship to Remus, he had begun acting less like a stuffy junior professor with tendencies towards girliness -- in Sirius's opinion -- and more like a real boy. To Sirius's disappointment, they could not cure Remus altogether of spending time with Lily Evans. Most weekdays, he ate lunch with her, and the two of them disappeared off to the library afterwards to study, and he still preferred her over Peter as a classroom partner. Not that Sirius could really blame him for that. But evenings frequently found Remus dining at the far end of the Gryffindor table with his roommates and the Prewetts, if not actively taking part in the planning of mischief, at least occasionally suggesting ways in which it might be accomplished without getting caught and losing yet more House points. 

Sirius worried that they were losing the battle when Remus began to disappear with Evans more frequently in the afternoons towards the end of February, but when James and Sirius practically ordered him to attend the Gryffindor v Hufflepuff Quidditch match, he voiced no objection. 

"I don't really know anything about Quidditch, though," he admitted as they made their way down the grounds on Saturday morning, scarves wrapped tightly against the February winds. The Prewetts were absent, having taken the opportunity afforded by the empty school to try and sneak into Professor Tynedale's quarters or Madam Pomfrey's office. 

"There's not all that much to it," Sirius informed him. "Just two teams scoring goals." 

"First off, there's the Chasers," said James. "They've got this big, red ball called a Quaffle --" 

"Like your owl?" Remus asked. 

James nodded. "Exactly like." He dodged sideways, hefting an imaginary ball in one hand, and pretended to throw it to Sirius, who jumped to grab it out of the air. "The three Chasers throw the Quaffle back and forth and try to get it through the goal hoops, past the other team's Keeper." 

"Like this." Sirius whirled on his toes and mimed hurling the imaginary ball past Peter, who dove sideways with a yell. 

"Think I missed it," he mumbled as Remus helped him to his feet. 

"So that's it?" asked Remus. "Not to insult your favourite sport, Potter, but that doesn't sound very interesting." 

James grinned. "Oh, that's not nearly all of it, mate! See, then you've got the Beaters." 

"Right!" said Sirius, striking a stance and miming hitting something with a stick, tongue sticking out between his teeth. "There's two of them on each team, and they've got bats for hitting Bludgers -- those are the balls that fly around on their own, knocking people off their brooms." 

James dodged out of the trajectory of Sirius's phantom Bludger, and Peter took a dramatic fall off his imaginary broom. 

"The Bludgers will go for whoever's closest," James informed Remus, "so the Beaters' job is to knock them away from their own teammates and towards the Slytherins -- I mean, the other team," he amended at Sirius's snort. 

A cluster of Slytherins including Severus Snape pushed past the Gryffindors, shooting dirty looks at them, and passed through the entrance to the Quidditch pitch. 

"C'mon," said Sirius, giving James a small push, "or all the good seats will have gone." 

The four boys climbed the wooden steps to the Gryffindor section of the stands. Sirius felt quite warm by the time he reached the top, but when they exited the stairway, the winter wind, unobstructed at that altitude, hit him full-force, making his nose run. He wiped it on the back of his sleeve as they made their way to a cluster of unoccupied seats. 

The wind whipped Sirius's too-long hair into his eyes, and he pushed it out of the way impatiently. Remus paused in the midst of trying to rewrap his scarf. 

"Here," Remus said, taking out his wand. "Let me. _Crinis Constringo_." 

Obeying the voice of authority, Sirius's hair pulled itself neatly back, as if bound by an invisible hair-tie. 

Remus peered critically at the results of his spell. "Not bad," he said with a nod of satisfaction. 

James laughed. "Where did you pick that one up, Lupin?" 

"From Lily." He blushed. "Sometimes she gets annoyed with her hair falling in her face when she's studying. It'll wear off in a couple of hours." 

"I can't believe you used some girly hairstyling spell on me," pouted Sirius. "I thought we were friends." 

"It doesn't look girly," Peter said reasonably. "And your hair's out of the way now, isn't it?" 

"Suppose so." 

But as the match began and his attention turned towards the pitch, Sirius couldn't hold onto his gloom. Remus, seated beside him, was fidgeting with his scarf again. Sirius suspected the problem was that the scarf was too short to wrap twice around the other boy's neck, and not warm enough when wrapped only once. As he impatiently unwound it for the third time, a gust of wind caught it, and before Remus or Sirius could snatch it back, it sailed away, fluttering down to the pitch far below. 

"Damn," muttered Remus, peering over the edge of the stands after it. 

Sirius unwound his own long scarf. "Here," he said, wrapping one end firmly around Remus's throat, and the other around his own. "We can pick yours up after the match." 

"Thanks," said Remus, flashing him a rare half-smile. 

They turned back to the pitch in time to see Gryffindor score their first goal of the match, Cecilia Hathersage neatly putting the Quaffle past the startled Hufflepuff Keeper. Gryffindor's Keeper, third year Florence O'Neill, a scrappy girl with light brown hair and freckles, was letting nothing get past her. She performed a complicated loop-the-loop, catching the Quaffle while upside-down, and causing James to leap to his feet, proclaiming his undying love to her. 

"What's he doing?" asked Remus after several minutes of silent observation. 

"Who? Oh." Sirius caught sight of a gangly seventh year named Bilius Weasley, skimming low over the ground, far from the action of the match. "He's our Seeker. It's his job to catch the Snitch." 

"The what?" Remus sounded confused. 

"The Golden Snitch," Sirius explained in an undertone, leaning closer in order to be heard over the enthusiasm of the other spectators. "It's a tiny gold ball that zooms around all over the place. The game's not over until it's caught, and the Seeker who catches it gets 150 points for their team." 

"Oh," said Remus. "Doesn't that make the rest of the game sort of pointless?" 

"Sometimes," Sirius admitted as Gryffindor scored another goal. "Not always." 

James had apparently overheard them, despite the fact that he was leaning halfway out of the stands, in danger of plummeting to his death. "If the Seeker's any good, the game can be over almost before it's started. Weasley's rubbish, though." 

"Maybe the Slytherins hexed him," Sirius suggested, eyeing the unsteady progress of the Gryffindor Seeker. 

"No," said Peter. "He was the same in the match against Slytherin in November." 

A Slytherin in the stands opposite shouted a snide comment about the quality of Weasley's broomstick. Weasley turned as red as his hair and changed direction quickly, swooping away from the laughing Slytherins and almost running headlong into Lancelot Ames, Gryffindor's sixth year Beater. 

"I almost feel sorry for Gryffindor!" a mocking voice called after him. 

James shook his head, unable to summon up any real anger at the taunting. "The rest of the team's not bad, but without a decent Seeker, there's almost no way we'll win the cup this year." 

"Weasley's a seventh year," Remus pointed out. "They'll have to get someone new next year. They're bound to be better, aren't they?" 

"It'll be me," said James confidently. "Mum played Seeker. I've got Quidditch in my blood." 

"I just thought you had a Bludger for a brain," quipped Sirius. 

"Shut it, you," James replied, punching him affectionately in the shoulder. "See if I don't make the team." 

"I suppose you couldn't be much worse than Weasley," teased Sirius, reaching out and plucking James's glasses off his nose to settle them on his own. The whole world went out of focus. "We'll see what happens when the Slytherins vanish your specs, shall we?" 

"Arse," said James, flailing blindly at him. 

He tried to snatch his glasses back, but misjudged the distance and ended up steadying himself on the scarf wrapped around Sirius and Remus's throats. When they could breathe again, Remus nudged Sirius. 

"Give them back," he said. "They make you look like McGonagall." 

"Ten points from Gryffindor for impertinence, Mr Lupin," Sirius replied in a prim Scots accent, but removed the spectacles and handed them back to James. 

They turned their attention back to the pitch just in time to see third year Aleric Thomas aim a Bludger at Amos Diggory, Hufflepuff's Seeker, a handsome fifth year. The crowd went wild. Diggory swerved, and the Bludger missed him by inches, to cheers from the Hufflepuffs and cries of dismay from the Gryffindors. 

James was leaning out of the stands again. "Nice one, Thomas! If we can knock their Seeker out of the running, we stand a chance, at least." 

As the match progressed and Gryffindor scored goal after goal with no sign of the Snitch, Remus became more and more involved in the action of the game. When Gertrude Brown, the Gryffindor Captain, scored the team's tenth goal, Remus was on his feet, yelling as loud as any of them. Their shared scarf had become a hindrance to his enthusiasm, and Remus impatiently threw it off, claiming he was too warm for it now, in any case. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright with excitement. Sirius watched him covertly, mentally congratulating himself for forcing the other boy out of his studious fog. 

When the inevitable happened and Diggory finally caught the Snitch, the points stood at 170 for Hufflepuff and 130 for Gryffindor. Every member of the Gryffindor team had acquitted him or herself heroically, except Weasley, who dragged his broom off the field in disgrace. 

"Thanks," Remus told the others as they made their way across the school grounds after retrieving his scarf. "I think I needed that." 

"Told you so," Sirius grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Study too much and you'll be the one who ends up looking like McGonagall." 

"Oh, I dunno," said Remus thoughtfully. "Did you see her shaking her fist at Weasley at the end? I think she must be a Quidditch fan." 

"No wonder if she was upset," James sighed, kicking despondently at a stone. "With two losses, we're out of the running for the Quidditch cup." 

"A pity, that," said a mocking voice from behind them. 

They turned to confront a group of Slytherins including Severus Snape and Rabastan Lestrange. 

"We would've loved another chance to thrash you lot for the cup this spring," Lestrange continued. "Is Weasley really the best Gryffindor can do for a Seeker? How sad." 

"Shut it, Lestrange," Sirius growled, hand twitching towards the wand in his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw James make the same movement. 

Lestrange ignored him, turning to his friends to ask, "Who's in the lead for the cup now? Oh, that's right! We are!" The other Slytherins snickered approvingly. 

"Now, what's all this?" asked a hearty, jovial voice. A tall, broad-shouldered boy waded into the midst of the younger Slytherins and glanced from them to the glaring Gryffindors. "Not making trouble, are you, lads?" 

"We're just having a chat with our Gryffindor classmates, Bagman," Lestrange replied easily. 

"Glad to hear it," said Bagman, patting the younger boy on the shoulder. "Remember, it's not sporting to mock a defeated foe. We're better than that. We're winning, and that should be enough for us." 

When Bagman did not seem inclined to move on, the Slytherins began reluctantly to disperse. At last, only Snape remained, black eyes boring into Remus, who studiously did not meet his gaze. Bagman looked at Snape, shrugged, and wandered off with no more than a friendly nod to the Gryffindor boys. 

When Bagman was out of earshot, Snape spoke. "How is it that you can treat her like nothing, and she still thinks you're something special?" he hissed. "If you weren't such a failure at Potions, I'd think it was a love philtre. Whatever you did to her, I hope you get expelled for it, Lupin." 

Nothing showed on Remus's face, but Sirius could see his hand clenched in a white-knuckled fist in the folds of his cloak. Rather than respond to the taunt, he turned away. "C'mon," he said to the others. "It's freezing out here." 

Peter went willingly, glad to avoid confrontation whenever possible. James turned away, too, but kept glancing back over his shoulder. Only Sirius didn't move, and he was the only one to see Snape draw his wand. He quickly drew his own, but at that moment, the hair-tying charm failed and the wind whipped his hair back into his eyes. His Noodle-Arms jinx went wild, but Snape's Jelly-Legs jinx hit Remus squarely between the shoulders, and he collapsed onto the muddy ground. 

Sirius shoved his hair out of the way and glared at Snape with a loathing he usually reserved for his family, wand pointed at his sneering face. This filth had hexed Remus in the back! "Of all the foul, cowardly, Slytherinish things to do --" 

"Mr Black!" cried a shocked voice. "Sympathetic though I am to the sentiment, losing at Quidditch is no excuse for hexing one's school fellows!" 

And then McGonagall was standing between him and his target, and Sirius realised belatedly that Snape had somehow managed to stow his wand before the Transfiguration mistress could notice it. 

"But Professor," he protested, "Snape hexed Remus!" 

McGonagall turned to where James and Peter were helping Remus to his feet. "Is this true, Mr Lupin?" 

Remus cast his eyes down. There was a smear of mud on his cheek. "No, Professor," he said quietly. "I just slipped." 

The professor's disapproving gaze returned to Sirius. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for unbecoming behaviour," she announced, "and detention in my classroom before supper every night this week. Now, off you go." 

Sirius whirled away in a huff, but not quickly enough to miss the smirk on Snape's face. Vowing a hundredfold vengeance upon the smug Slytherin's greasy head, he stormed past his friends. 

"She's just in a snit because we lost," James said soothingly, hurrying to keep up. "Snape's a tosser. Everyone knows it." 

Sirius ignored him. "I cannot believe you let that wanker get away with it," he growled at Remus. "I'm gonna hex him into next month if I ever catch him alone." 

"It wasn't your fight." Remus's tone bore an edge. "You shouldn't've got involved." 

"Well, I am involved," Sirius declared hotly. "We all are. No one messes with one of us without the others coming 'round to set him straight. Am I right?" 

James and Peter nodded, though Peter looked a bit terrified at the thought that he might be called upon to stand up for himself, let alone anyone else. 

"What are we?" asked Remus sarcastically. "The three Musketeers?" 

"Four!" Peter chimed in, assuming he had been left out of the count. 

James looked puzzled. "What's a Musketeer?" 

"Never mind." Remus waved a hand impatiently. "I just meant I don't need a champion." 

"Yeah, well, you've got one," Sirius told him.


	14. From the Files of Poppy Pomfrey

Something was definitely off about Professor Tynedale the following Monday morning. She looked exhausted, and several times during class, she drifted off mid-sentence with a dreamy smile playing on her lips. 

"See that?" James whispered the third time it happened, nudging Sirius in the ribs. "She's in love. Count on it." 

Sirius only rolled his eyes and jotted down the half-sentence the Defence mistress had just abandoned in his notes. 

The Prewetts had failed to turn up any new information during the Quidditch match regarding the professor and Madam Pomfrey. They had been foiled in the hospital wing by Dorian Gaveston, a second year Gryffindor, who was being melodramatically ill and generally annoying the matron until she snapped at the Prewetts that if they weren't dying they could jolly well come back later. Tynedale's quarters, of course, were more than adequately defended, and when they had attempted to release the locking charms, they had been zapped by that Mugglish substance, electricity, and continued to emit small sparks whenever they touched anything metal for the remainder of the day. 

Sirius could not have cared less about their professor's odd behaviour; Remus was also acting off. He had spent most of the class period staring out the window, but with none of Tynedale's secretive smiles. A quill dangled limply from his fingers, and the parchment before him was as blank as when he had laid it there. Evans, seated beside him, touched his arm frequently, but appeared to be taking extra care over her notes. Sirius bit his lip and turned back to his own. Remus would want to borrow them later. 

_He's going again,_ he realised. Sirius had finally made the connection between his friend's preoccupation and his trips home. But what could he do? Tell him not to go? Forcibly restrain him? He scowled at his own uselessness and scratched down another sentence fragment. The least he could do was take decent notes for Remus to copy when he got back. 

Remus was equally inattentive in Charms and Transfiguration, and Sirius caught Flitwick and McGonagall casting concerned looks at the usually adept boy as each spell he tried went wrong. 

_At least I'm not the only one who knows something's up,_ thought Sirius. _Maybe they can do something._

After Transfiguration, McGonagall called Sirius to her desk as the rest of the class melted away, and gave him his detention assignment: changing back all the transfigured objects that his classmates had got wrong that day. 

He weighed the carved bone beetle that Remus had not quite managed to change into a button on his palm and wondered if his roommate would be gone by the time Sirius got back to Gryffindor tower. When McGonagall wasn't looking, Sirius pocketed the transfigured beetle. 

At last, McGonagall gave him the nod to depart. Sirius grabbed his book bag and sprinted up the stairs towards Gryffindor tower. Halfway there, he nearly collided with Remus, coming down, and drew up short, gasping for breath. 

"You headed down to supper?" Sirius attempted a casual tone -- no mean feat in his winded state. 

"No. I -- have to go home." Remus's eye were wary. 

"Again?" Sirius noted the other boy's empty hands. "Aren't you taking anything with you?" 

Remus shrugged and dropped his gaze. "Got everything I need there." 

The silence grew between them. Sirius desperately wanted to say something useful, but he had no idea what. Remus was fidgeting, as if he wanted to be off. 

"Can I come with you?" Sirius blurted out. Surely if there was a witness, no one would dare -- 

Remus blinked. "Why would you want to come home with me?" 

"No reason," Sirius fumbled. "I just thought it would be -- fun." 

"Well, you can't," Remus said slowly, as if reasoning with a child. "You'd need McGonagall's permission, and you'd miss class." 

"Yeah. I guess so." 

"I have to go. I'm late." Remus moved to step past him. 

Sirius touched his arm as he passed. "See you tomorrow," he said quietly. 

"Yeah," said Remus, not meeting his eyes. "See you." 

* * *

It really wasn't his fault, Sirius told himself. It was Professor Beery's fault for making the bubotubers sound so boring that they couldn't possibly be dangerous. Or it might have been James's fault for distracting him with a joke while the Herbology master was explaining why they should puncture and drain the plant's sap-filled blisters, rather than squeezing them sharply. Maybe it was even Remus's fault for not being there to tell him what the professor had said. Whoever's fault it had been, it was Sirius who became the undeserving victim of a stream of bubotuber pus directly to the eyes halfway through double Herbology with Hufflepuff the next morning. 

Elderly Professor Beery, clucking in shock at such language from a first year student, took him firmly by the elbow and guided him to a stool as his eyes stung and watered and swelled shut. 

"Open your eyes, lad. Let's see how bad it is." 

"It's bad," said Sirius between clenched teeth, forcing his eyes open a crack and immediately closing them again when that only made matters worse. 

"What's wanted is a soothing ointment for the eyes," said Beery. "Unfortunately I haven't a ready supply. Mr Potter, will you please escort Mr Black to the hospital wing? Madam Pomfrey will know what to do. And mind you come directly back, after." 

Sirius stumbled out of the greenhouse and up to the castle, clutching the sleeve of James's robes. His friend's witticisms at his expense did not improve his mood. There was a brief scuffle in which Sirius made a lucky grab for James's glasses. 

"Now it's the blind leading the blind," he said testily, "unless you're ready to shut your gob." 

The pain in his eyes was making his whole head throb, but in spite of it, he couldn't help worrying that, with himself and James gone from Herbology class, Remus would have to rely on Peter and Evans's notes. 

When they reached the hospital wing, he let James explain to the matron what had happened. She sat Sirius down and shooed his friend back to class. 

"See you at lunch, I guess," James called over his shoulder, and Madam Pomfrey _shush_ ed him. 

She clucked over Sirius like a mother hen, speaking in a low voice, but at last offered him a blissfully cool cloth soaked with some sort of ointment to press against his burning eyes. With a sigh of relief, he slumped back in the chair. 

"Now, just hold that in place until the sting has gone completely, Mr Black," she admonished him. "It may take twenty or thirty minutes. I'll be back to check on you before lunch." 

Within moments of her retreating footsteps, Sirius was bored. There was something especially irritating about being forced to sit still and wait in total darkness with nothing to do. Everything seemed bloody annoying and inconvenient. His hair tickled his face, and he shoved it back irritably, but it only fell forwards again. He reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand and took careful aim. 

" _Crinis Constringo_." 

He had experimented with the hair-tying charm the day before, with the benefit of a mirror, and had found the effect not at all bad. He thought he looked rather sharp with his hair pulled back from his face. Perhaps he should consider adopting the style for his own. He had no intention of cutting his hair at any point in the near future, since it would annoy his parents, and the only alternative was to have it getting in his way all the time. 

When he returned the wand to his pocket, his hand brushed the beetle-button Remus had made the previous day in Transfiguration. He rubbed the shiny surface and rough edges between his fingers, feeling the striations that had been the beetle's legs and antennae. Remus would be missing Transfiguration that afternoon, which was a shame since he frequently lacked the confidence to perform the difficult magic reliably. Sirius hoped he would be able to make it to the class, although James's notes were usually the best in that subject. 

The burning sensation had mostly faded, and Sirius dared to peel the cloth from one eye for an experimental peek. His vision was slightly blurry, and as soon as his eye was exposed to the air, it began to water profusely, but at least he could see. The infirmary was silent and empty. Madam Pomfrey was probably in her office. 

Sirius rose from the chair and looked around, knowing that his friends would never let him hear the end of it if he wasted an opportunity to investigate their current favourite mystery. If the Defence mistress and the matron were lovers, he frankly didn't care, but the others did, and they would expect him to do some snooping while he had the chance. Not that there would be many clues in the large, sterile cavern of the infirmary; any real evidence would probably be hidden away behind the closed door of the matron's office. Still, he had to try. 

There wasn't much to look at in the infirmary, he quickly discovered. Two fireplaces, one at either end of the large room, provided warmth for twelve identical beds in two rows, each with its own bedside cabinet, lamp and visitor's chair. At least, Sirius assumed there were twelve beds. He could only see eleven, but there was a curtained-off area which likely served to provide privacy to Madam Pomfrey's only current patient besides himself. 

Curious -- and never having had much regard for anyone's privacy but his own -- Sirius crept quietly across the room and twitched the curtains apart an inch to see who it was. 

It was Remus. 

Sirius blinked. His eyes were playing tricks on him. He hadn't kept the ointment on them long enough. Because Remus was at home. He had told Sirius he was going home. He wouldn't have lied about it. Not Remus. 

But plainly he had. Sirius's vision was still fuzzy, but there could be no mistake. His quiet roommate lay asleep, curled on his side, blankets pulled tight around his shoulders. There were dark circles under his eyes and a smear of what looked like blood on his earlobe. Sirius suppressed an impulse to shake his friend awake and demand an explanation. Remus looked exhausted, and possibly hurt as well. But if he wasn't going home -- 

"Sirius?" 

He jumped and spun around, jerking the curtains closed behind him as James reappeared. Sirius went to meet his friend, moving away from the curtained bed and the mystery that lay there. 

"I sent Pete up to the room to drop off our things before lunch." James peered at him critically. "Your eyes are really red, mate." 

" _Shhh_ ," Sirius hissed, drawing James over the the chair he was supposed to be sitting in and pressing the cloth over his eyes once more. 

"What's up?" James whispered eagerly. "Is it to do with Pomfrey and --" 

Sirius shook his head. _Not now._

Madam Pomfrey spared him anymore questions by choosing that moment to emerge from her office. 

"Ah, Mr Potter. You're just in time to see Mr Black down to lunch. That is, if you're feeling better, young man?" 

"Yeah," Sirius said, removing the cloth from his eyes. "It -- ah -- doesn't hurt anymore. Can I go?" 

She took his chin in her calloused fingers and turned his head towards the light, squinting into his eyes. 

"The inflammation hasn't gone down as much as I had hoped," she informed him. "Take the cloth with you, and continue to apply it to your eyes whenever possible for the rest of the afternoon. And don't try to take any notes; you'll only give yourself a headache. I'll write you an excuse for your afternoon class. You'll still attend, but you'll be excused from participation." 

As soon as they were out of the infirmary, James rounded on him. 

"So?" he demanded. "What was all that _shush_ ing about?" 

Sirius glanced nervously over his shoulder, but they were quite alone on the stairs. "He's not going home." 

"Who?" James looked confused. 

"Remus," Sirius hissed. "I saw him sleeping in the hospital wing. He looked bad." 

"But -- " said James, "-- if he's not going home --" 

"Then it can't be his parents, can it?" Sirius reasoned. 

James frowned. "And if he's in the hospital wing, then, whatever it is, Madam Pomfrey knows about it." 

"Yeah." Sirius felt a surge of anger towards the matron. _She knows, and she hasn't done a thing about it. I hope Tynedale breaks her heart and stomps on the pieces._

"So who's doing it to him?" James wondered. 

"I'll bet it's Snape," said Sirius between clenched teeth. "You saw what an evil bastard he was to Remus the other day. I wouldn't put it past him to --" 

James laid a warning hand on his arm. Sirius looked up to see Lily Evans coming up the steps towards them. 

"Not going to lunch, Evans?" James asked. "Think of all the extra study time you'd have if you didn't need to eat!" 

Evans paused, looking disconcerted, as if they'd caught her doing something forbidden. "I was just -- er -- going up to my room to get something. Did you -- did you see Madam Pomfrey about your eyes, then, Black?" 

"Yeah," he told her. "They're fine now." 

"Oh. Well, that's good. I suppose." 

"Right," said Sirius. "But you know what would be better?" 

"What?" she asked warily. 

"If you would tell your tosser friend Snape to leave Remus the hell alone." 

Evans went bright red, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Why don't you just leave my friends alone, Black?" she hissed. "Sev said you tried to hex him the other day." 

"Yeah, only after he hexed Remus in the back!" Sirius shouted. 

"I don't believe that for a second!" she sneered. "Remus would've said something to me." 

James tugged at his sleeve. "C'mon, mate. Fighting with girls isn't worth it. They don't do it properly." 

Reluctantly, Sirius allowed himself to be dragged away, but before they rounded a bend in the stairs, he called back over his shoulder, "I'd keep an eye on my 'friend' if I were you, Evans." 

"Snape can't have done it," James insisted, once they were out of earshot. 

Sirius was incensed. "He bloody well did, and you know it, Potter! You saw him hex Remus in the back, same as I did!" 

"Not that," James said impatiently. "Of course I know he did that. But the rest of it -- Lupin disappearing and the scars and all that -- it can't be him." 

"Why not?" 

"Same reason we decided it couldn't be him before," said James. "Lupin had plenty of scars before he ever set foot in Hogwarts. And anyway, why would Lupin let Snape treat him like that when you and I both know he can defend himself?" 

"He didn't do much defending the other day after the Quidditch," Sirius muttered belligerently. "What's your brilliant theory, Potter?" 

James shrugged, dropping his voice as they came to the entrance hall. "Haven't got one, mate. I say we just wait and watch and use our enormous brains to work it out, like the Prewetts do." 

"All right," Sirius relented. "But we don't tell them. Or Pete." 

He wasn't sure why he felt that Remus's secret, whatever it was, needed to be kept from their other friends, but he did. This mystery belonged to himself and James. They would solve it together, and then they would stop whatever was happening to Remus. 

"Fine," James said. "I wasn't planning on blabbing." 

The presence of their friends and fellow Gryffindors over lunch brought about a temporary halt to the conversation. They whispered some more about it in Transfiguration that afternoon until McGonagall became fed up, docking them five more House points. 

"You are already serving detention with me for the rest of the week, Mr Black," she said. "Don't make matters worse for yourself." 

Sirius fidgeted all through his detention, during which he accomplished very little due to the combined effects of distraction, blurry vision, and a residual sting in his eyes. It felt like hours before McGonagall let him go. 

He took the long way back to Gryffindor tower, past the hospital wing, but when he peeked in through the double doors, the curtains had been pulled back, and the twelfth bed was empty. 

Steeling himself to pretend that nothing had changed, Sirius turned down the corridor and went to meet his friends. 

* * *

The mystery of Remus Lupin continued to plague Sirius as March dawned, bright and windy, and light began to return to the northern reaches of the Scottish Highlands. Try as he might, Sirius could come up with no rational explanation for Remus's behaviour. 

When he had returned from detention after seeing Remus in the hospital wing, the other boy had been in bed already, ostensibly asleep. The following morning, still tired but more or less his usual self, he had asked about Sirius's bloodshot eyes. 

"Got stinging sap in them in Herbology," Sirius had said, affecting a casual tone. "Had to go to the hospital wing." 

"Oh." Remus's face had gone carefully blank. "Sorry to hear it." 

"How's your mum?" asked Sirius. 

Remus had shrugged. "Same as ever." 

Ever since he realised that Remus had lied to him, Sirius had felt a strain on their new friendship. He wondered if Remus could sense it, too. They didn't talk much for the rest of the week, though Sirius handed over his notes, such as they were, unasked. He couldn't let the matter drop, but he knew that confronting Remus would only get him more lies. 

* * *

On Saturday over breakfast, the Prewetts shared the results of their latest intelligence gathering. "Pomfrey's meeting with Dumbledore this afternoon," Gideon whispered, eyes shining with excitement. 

Fabian nodded. "We overheard her telling Flitwick yesterday. We'll finally be able to have a poke around her office." 

"That is, if you've all got new defence spells to show us," Gideon amended. 

Sirius glanced surreptitiously down the Gryffindor table to where Remus was sitting with Evans, and wondered what the secretive boy would think of them snooping through the matron's inner sanctum. 

After breakfast, they sneaked into an empty classroom where Sirius demonstrated his mastery of the Jelly-Legs jinx and its counter, and James presented a charm for rapid hair growth, which could quickly obscure an enemy's vision. Peter tried to pass off a shield charm that they had learned in October, and when the others called him out on it, he claimed, pouting, not to remember knowing it before. 

It was a wet day with little else to do, and the boys returned to their dormitory to play Exploding Snap and await the Prewetts' "all clear" to go ahead with the plan. Remus, claiming he couldn't concentrate with all the noise they were making, disappeared to the library to finish copying down notes and catching up on assignments from the classes he had missed that week. 

When he had gone, James nudged Peter. "Don't tell Lupin what we're up to today." 

"Why not?" Peter asked petulantly. He hated to be left out of any chance to find out more about Pomfrey and Tynedale's putative romance. 

James and Sirius exchanged a look. They had known better than to mention the day's objectives in Remus's hearing, but they had not discussed the coverup, so far as it concerned Peter. 

Sirius shrugged and offered the shorter boy an easy grin. "You know how he and Tynedale are," he said. "Practically joined at the hip." 

"Yeah," James agreed, playing along. "He said he didn't like how we were prying into her personal life. I don't think he'll ask, but if he does, don't mention that we've gone to the hospital wing. All right, mate?" 

"We're counting on you," Sirius added solemnly. 

Peter perked up at that. "I won't let you down," he promised. 

When Gideon came for them after lunch, Peter hardly whined at all about being left behind. 

"Don't try to follow us," Sirius warned. 

"We'll tell you everything when we get back," promised James. 

"Did you see McGonagall posted the signup sheet for Easter stay-overs?" Gideon asked as they hurried down the winding tower steps and out of the portrait hole. 

"No," said James. "Are you two staying this time?" 

Gideon shook his head. "Nah. It's Molly and Arthur's anniversary over the break, and we promised to take wee Billy up to Mum and Dad's place for a couple of days." 

"Why?" Sirius asked. "Don't they like their kid?" 

That made Gideon laugh. "Sure they do. But sometimes, Black, when a man and a woman love each other very, very much, they like to have a little time alone together every now and then, and a noisy, bald thing that eats and soils itself every couple of hours can spoil the romantic mood. I'm sure you'll understand when you're older." 

"Oh." Sirius blushed. "Right." 

"What about you lads?" asked Gideon. "Are you staying again?" 

"Can't," said James, making a face. "My folks are going to Italy, and they want me to come with them, since it's the first holiday Dad's had in ages." 

"Italy's nice," Gideon promised. "You'll have a good time." 

"I'd have a better time spending my birthday with my mates," muttered James. 

Gideon ruffled his hair, grinning. "Don't worry; you'll be twelve for a whole year. I'm sure you'll find the time to celebrate." 

"I guess if you're going, I am, too," Sirius said glumly. "There's no chance of Remus staying, and you know Pete will cave to his Mum this time. So it's either stay here by myself and be bored, or go home and deal with my family." 

"Maybe it'll be easier to sort things out with them face to face," suggested Gideon. 

Sirius scowled. "I doubt it. You haven't met my family." 

They greeted Fabian at the entrance to the deserted infirmary. "C'mon," he whispered. "The office door is unlocked, but I've been waiting for you lot. We haven't got much time." 

Madam Pomfrey's office was smaller and more cluttered than they had expected, when compared with the spacious sterility of the infirmary proper. Her desk was a mess of parchment and open medical tomes, stacked one on top of the other, and a bulging wooden filing cabinet as tall as the twins leaned against the desk, none of its drawers quite able to close. There was a comfortable leather chair behind the desk, and two less-comfortable wooden ones in front of it. A large bookcase stood in one corner, and a small, tidy bed in another. 

"Single bed," Gideon murmured, nudging his twin. "Doesn't look like Tynedale sleeps here." 

"If she keeps a diary or something, it'll probably be in her desk," said Fabian. "But why don't you and Black check the filing cabinet, just to be safe?" 

Gideon rolled his eyes. "Sure. Because nothing screams 'illicit lesbian romance' like a filing cabinet." 

In spite of his protests, Gideon went about his work eagerly enough. He started with the top drawer, instructing Sirius to start from the middle, so they could both work their way down without getting in one another's way. Fabian and James, meanwhile, began poking through the clutter on the desk, taking care not to rearrange anything noticeably. 

Sirius was halfway through his first drawer when his fingers stopped dead on a fat blue folder neatly labeled "Lupin, Remus John, 1971-1978". Answers. All he had to do was open it and take a peek. 

Gideon noticed his pause. "Find something?" he asked, peering over the edge of his own drawer. 

"No," said Sirius, slamming the drawer shut and thinking quickly. "I -- I think the files are alphabetical. If there's one for Tynedale, it'll be lower down." 

"Good thinking," said Gideon. 

They knelt on either side of the bottom drawer as Sirius's racing mind scrabbled for a way to get his hands on Remus's file without the twins noticing. But before he could think of anything, Fabian let out a whoop of discovery. 

"We've got her calendar!" he crowed triumphantly, waving it over his head. 

Gideon and Sirius scrambled to their feet and peered around the exultant prefect, Sirius feigning interest as the twins eagerly pointed out the initials "H.T." neatly recorded on every Friday afternoon until the end of the school year. 

"So they have a date every Friday?" asked James. 

Gideon frowned. "That does seem a bit -- scheduled -- for a passionate rendezvous," he admitted. 

"Maybe she has a condition that needs regular treatment," said Fabian, deflating a little as his favoured theory began to slip away. 

As the twins argued about what sort of condition that could be, James nudged Sirius in the ribs and nodded at the calendar. Sirius looked at it again, and noticed what his friend had seen. Inked into the evening of the twenty-eighth day of February, with an arrow carrying it over to the twenty-ninth, were the letters "R.L." 

Sirius glanced at the Prewetts. They hadn't noticed, but then, they weren't looking for those initials. Fabian was pacing up and down the small room, and Gideon was leaning against the bookcase, scowling and idling running his fingers over the spines of the medical texts for inspiration. 

Together, Sirius and James turned the calendar back a page, and found their roommate's initials again, this time covering the twenty-ninth and thirtieth days of January. The same was true of four weeks before that on New Years Eve and New Years Day, but this time with a query mark. 

"He went home for Christmas," Sirius whispered. 

The initials appeared on the calendar approximately once a month from the beginning to the end of the school year, though never falling on the same date, nor on the same day of the week. It made no sense at all. 

"Hang on a tick, Fabe." There was an odd note in Gideon's voice that caught even Sirius's notice. The older boy was still looking at the bookcase, still running his fingers over the spines, but something among the dusty tomes had clearly captured his attention. 

"What's up, Gid?" Fabian strode over to peer at the books as well. After a moment, he whistled and pulled one off the shelf, leafing through it. 

"What?" said James, catching their excitement. 

Gideon looked up, eyes bright. "Werewolves." 

"What about them?" asked Sirius, Pomfrey's calendar momentarily forgotten. 

Fabian gestured at the shelves. "Pomfrey's just got about fifty books on them, that's all." 

"Really? Why?" Sirius tilted his head to read the spines. 

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Gideon. "She must be treating one." 

Sirius froze, eyes still locked on the cloth and leather bindings, but he was no longer seeing them. 

"A werewolf? At Hogwarts?" James scoffed. "Don't be daft! Dumbledore'd never allow it, and he'd have to know if Pomfrey was keeping one." 

"I dunno," Fabian said thoughtfully. "Dumbledore's as mad as pants. Who knows what he'd do? And it might not be too hard to hide something like that if you had the matron and the headmaster covering for you. It could be almost anyone, couldn't it?" 

James's nose wrinkled in disgust. "If it's anyone, it's got to be that hairy seventh year from Slytherin, hasn't it? What's his name? Goyle. A werewolf would have to be a Slytherin." 

"It could be Tynedale," suggested Gideon. "Though why she'd need to be checking in with Pomfrey once a week, I've no idea." 

His housemates' conversation washed over Sirius, but he had lost any sense of it. Slowly, he reached out and picked up a folded sheet of parchment that lay on the shelf in front of the books. It was a Ministry of Magic pamphlet that bore the rather ridiculous title, "So Your Friend/Relative/Coworker is a Werewolf". There was a picture of the full moon on the front of it. 

The full moon. Almost once a month, but never on the same day. He remembered clearly seeing its round face through his telescope the night Remus had missed Astronomy. 

Sirius felt funny all over -- excited and a little bit ill. It explained everything. The moodiness. The secrecy. The absences. 

He opened the pamphlet, skimming over it until his gaze was arrested. _The werewolf, deprived of victims, may turn on himself in frustration, tearing at his own flesh with teeth and claws._

Sirius's stomach turned over, and he thought he might be sick. _Bloody hell! The scars! He did that to himself?_

Bolting from the office, Sirius tore through the infirmary and out the double doors, the pamphlet still crumpled in his fist. He barely noticed where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to get away to somewhere quiet where he could think. 

Ducking behind a tapestry, Sirius found a small window with a broken pane of glass. Eyes closed, he rested his forehead against it, gratefully gulping the fresh air. He realised he was trembling, and wondered if he was going to cry. 

_Get a hold of yourself!_ he thought, giving himself a shake. _Blacks don't cry. You've just had a shock. You found out one of your mates is a werewolf, and --_

He almost laughed. It was too ridiculous. Sirius thought back a lifetime ago to the blood-proud boy who had come to Hogwarts expecting to be Sorted into Slytherin. And here he was, six months later, with a half-blood werewolf for one of his best friends. _Merlin! Mother and Father would have fits if they knew!_ He imagined throwing it in their faces, then stopped short. 

He could never tell them, he realised. If his parents ever found out there was a werewolf at Hogwarts, let alone living in the same room as their son and heir, they would stop at nothing to see Remus expelled, or worse. The secret had to remain hidden. 

Sirius heard echoing footsteps in the corridor and peered around the edge of the tapestry. James had come looking for him. He would have to tell him something after running out like that. 

_He's my best mate. I should tell him the truth._

James was so close to guessing, anyway. He had all the same clues Sirius had seen; he just hadn't put it together yet. It wouldn't be long before he figured it out. And he would understand, as Sirius did, the need for secrecy -- the need to protect their friend from people like his parents. 

Sheepishly, he emerged from his hiding place. James looked startled, but leaned against the wall next to him, his face a mask of concern. "You all right, mate?" 

"Yeah." 

"The Prewetts -- they think you're scared of werewolves now," James told him. "You're not, are you?" 

Sirius shrugged uncomfortably. "No more than most. James -- I --" He licked his lips. His mouth had gone dry. 

His friend's brow furrowed. "What's the matter?" 

"The -- the werewolf," he stammered. "James, what if it's --" 

"What?" James asked eagerly. "D'you think you know who it is?" 

Sirius swallowed, staring at his best friend helplessly. "I think it's Remus." 

James snorted. "Bollocks. It couldn't be. Not Lupin!" 

"Think about it," Sirius urged. "The scars. His initials once a month on Pomfrey's calendar -- that could be the full moon. And Pete's puffskein is terrified of him. Animals always act weird around him. That has to mean something, right?" 

James stared at him, incredulous. "You're serious about this, aren't you?" 

Sirius nodded. 

"Merlin," breathed James, sagging against the stones. "We've been sharing a room with a bloody werewolf for half a year, and no one even thought to tell us? That has to be illegal!" 

"What should we do?" asked Sirius. "We can't tell anyone, obviously, but --" 

James looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Of course we've got to tell someone, Black! The students have a right to know. And the parents. Mum and Dad would go mental if they knew Dumbledore put a werewolf in my room!" 

Faster than thought, Sirius's wand was out, his free hand planted in the middle of his friend's chest, pinning him to the wall. "Don't you dare." His voice shook, and he felt his eyes prickle dangerously. "Don't you breathe a bloody word of it to anyone, Potter, or I swear to Gryffindor I will hex your face onto your arse, and you'll spend the rest of your life walking backwards." 

"Take your wand off me, you nutter," James hissed. 

"Not until you swear," Sirius said fiercely. "He's your friend. He's never done anything to you." 

James scowled. "He's lied to me about what he is." 

"Sure," Sirius spat. "Because you and everyone else would have been really nice about it if he'd just come out and told you the first day of school. The Hat made him a Gryffindor, too, Potter. Same as me and you." 

James set his jaw, and they stared one another down for a long moment. 

"All right," James said at last. "I won't say anything. Mostly because I'm not completely sure that it's him yet. We'll wait and see what happens when the next full moon comes around." 

Sirius eased up on him a fraction. "The next moon is over Easter. It'll have to be the one in April." 

"Fine. April. Whatever," said James. "Are you going to put that bloody wand away now, Black?" 

Sirius bit his lip. "First swear to me on your honour as a Gryffindor that you won't say a word to him or anyone else about it, Potter." 

"I swear," James said grudgingly, holding out his hands, palms up, as if showing that he had nothing to hide. "Until the April moon."


	15. A Flurry of Owls

The tension in the first year Gryffindor boys' dormitory was palpable. Potter and Sirius had had some sort of falling-out, but Remus had no idea about what, since neither of them was talking about it, and both were pretending that everything was normal. Every now and then, Sirius would cast Potter a significant look, and Potter would scowl back at him, but nothing was ever articulated. 

_At least the elephant in the room doesn't mind me,_ Remus thought gloomily. 

He was usually one to mind his own business, since he preferred other people to mind theirs, but with Sirius hanging about all the time, and Potter spending more time with Peter than he had since the beginning of the school year, Remus couldn't avoid asking what was going on. 

"Nothing," Sirius told him with a falsely cheerful grin. "James and I have just decided to start seeing other people." 

His evasiveness led Remus to assume that, whatever had happened, it was probably Sirius's fault. But when Potter rather abruptly asked for his notes back, Remus began to wonder if Potter were upset with him, too, for some reason. _Maybe he thinks I'm stealing his best mate._

The truly baffling -- and only really worrying -- feature of the whole affair was the way hushed conversations between Sirius, Potter and the Prewetts died the moment Remus came within earshot. He tried to tell himself that they were just planning something especially stupid, and they didn't want him to know about it, but he couldn't shake a nagging sense of paranoia. 

_They can't think I'd rat on them, can they?_ He would never do it, even though he knew sometimes he probably should. Having friends was a rare joy for him, and he would do nothing to jeopardise it. 

When he interrupted a whispered discussion in the common room one afternoon, he set his jaw and hurried past, up the spiral staircase to the dormitory without so much as a glance at them. He found Peter, lying on his bed, tickling Constantine despondently. 

"What's up, Pete?" Remus asked. 

Even though he had sat down on his own bed, the puffskein squeaked in alarm at the sight of him and burrowed into Peter's bedclothes. Peter fished around and deposited the trembling creature reluctantly back in its cage before answering. 

"They won't talk to me," he said glumly. "Every time I come into the room --" 

"-- they clam up?" Remus hazarded. "I've got news for you, mate; it's not just you. They've been doing the same to me for over a week now." 

This seemed to make Peter feel a little better, but not Remus. He knew the others humoured Peter, but had no great respect for him. Remus felt badly for the boy, and disliked the idea that Potter and Sirius might think of him in the same light. He didn't think they did, but -- 

"D'you know what they've been rowing about?" Peter asked. "James and Sirius, I mean?" 

"No," said Remus, curious. "Do you?" 

Peter shook his head. "I thought you might." 

"No, sorry," Remus told him. "You know them, though. Sirius probably just opened his mouth again. They'll sort it out." 

But the difficulty, whatever it might be, was a constant buzz in the air, and Remus was glad to have an escape from it, and another friend to spend time with. He and Lily had been practising meditation exercises together in her refuge several times a week since he had told her his secret. Sometimes they talked about his life, and sometimes they simply sat facing one another, cross-legged on the carpet, hands linked and eyes closed, breathing and thinking about nothing, letting the sensation of calm and clarity flow between them. 

When they were alone together, Remus felt free. When others were present, he worried, because Lily treated him differently now that she knew. 

She had met him at the door to the hospital wing on the night of the last full moon, and had given him a silent hug before hurrying away. It was wonderful to know how deeply she cared for him, but he wished she would show a little more discretion. Her fussing over him in the days before and after the moon annoyed him and made him anxious about drawing unwanted attention to himself. Tired and irritable, Remus had finally snapped when she skipped dinner in order to see him back to his dormitory after the full moon. 

"You can't be like this, Lily," he told her. "You have to treat me like normal, and stick to the story that I'm just going home, or people will start asking questions." 

She had turned red for a moment, as if she might bite back, but then she dropped her eyes and nodded. "You're right, Remus. I'm sorry. I promise I'll be more careful from now on." 

The only difficulty in spending time with Lily was the frequent presence of Severus Snape shooting poisonous looks at him. Remus had been doing his best to avoid the sour Slytherin since the incident at the Quidditch match, making excuses whenever Snape sought out Lily's company. He knew Snape would never hex him in front of Lily, but he wanted to avoid any trouble that might damage the delicate balance of their friendships with her. 

Remus was rather relieved when the Easter holidays finally arrived. That did not, however, mean that he wasn't sorry to see his friends go when they reached King's Cross Station. 

Lily hugged him fiercely, making Remus promise to owl her at least twice over the break, and departed in the company of Snape and his dour-looking mother, since her own Muggle parents couldn't get onto the platform without assistance. 

Peter, clutching Constantine's cage in both hands, gave his friends a glum "See you in two weeks," and submitted to being fussed and cooed over by his own elderly mother, who treated him as if he were six rather than twelve. 

Potter gave them a wave and a grin and ran to meet his own parents, hugging them unashamedly in greeting. Remus was about to call out to him to have a good time in Italy, when Matilda Hathersage blocked his view. 

"Have a good holiday, James," she said, and kissed him swiftly on the cheek before running back to her giggling sister. 

Potter went bright red, but grinned wider than ever. When Remus turned to share the joke with Sirius, he saw that his friend had missed the exchange. 

Sirius scowled at his toes, cheeks flaming almost the same shade as Potter's had, but for a different reason. A tall, middle-aged man stood over him. By the look of him, he could be none other than Sirius's father, but where Sirius's face was usually lit by wicked grins and eyes shining with mischief, Mr Black's sharply handsome features were marked by years of frowning disapproval, which, at that moment, was entirely focused on his son. 

A house-elf, struggling with Sirius's luggage, harangued him in a shrill voice. "Master Sirius is in such disgrace! Kreacher's Mistress and young Master Regulus couldn't bear to show their faces in public to meet him. Sullying himself with Gryffindor filth and Mudbloods ...." 

A terse "Come along," was all the greeting Mr Black had for his son. Sirius slouched after him without a backwards glance. 

When Remus's parents and Natalie appeared, instantly enveloping him in warmth and love, he realised there was one last thing he needed to do before he left. 

"Just a second," he told them. Letting go of his sister, he turned to run after his friend. "Sirius!" 

Sirius turned, surprised, and Remus stopped short, caught full in the glare of Mr Black's disapproval. Sirius's father waited, looking down his nose at them, and Remus could feel him silently judging his scuffed trainers and secondhand Muggle clothing. Remus gritted his teeth. _You're a werewolf, Lupin. You're a lot scarier than some dried up old wizard._

Grabbing his friend's hand in a brief squeeze, he said, "Try and have a good holiday." 

"You too." Sirius smiled weakly and turned away to vanish from the platform. 

* * *

_Dear James,_

_Happy Birthday! I've only just got Home from King's Cross, but I figure if I send Midnight now, he'll probably catch up with you in time in Italy. If he's late, I hope you had a brilliant Birthday and that Italy isn't too Boring. It's just a dusty old place out of History of Magic to me._

_I'd tell you how Things are going, but obviously I don't really know yet. Kreacher (our House-Elf) is being a right little Scab, like always. He keeps going on about what a Disgrace I am to my Name, and how it's only a matter of time before I get blasted off the Family Tree. Can't happen soon enough, you ask me. Father hardly said a Word to me, and I shut Myself in my Room as soon as we got back, so I haven't seen Mother or Regulus yet. I suppose I'll have to go down to Supper in a minute. What a Joy that will be._

_I know Things have been weird lately because of You-Know-What, and we haven't really talked about it since You-Know-When. I've been thinking, though. It's sort of like how before I got Sorted I thought I was Better because Everyone always told me I was. But I'm not. You're Better than me at loads of Things, and so are the Prewetts and so is Remus. Even Pete's better than me at Herbology (don't tell him I said so). I think we get Ideas into our Heads when we're Kids, and if they stay there long enough, we just assume they're True, even when they're obviously Not. I think maybe You-Know-What is one of those Things. Think about it, will you?_

_OK, I think this is Officially the longest Letter I have ever written. Owl me back!_

_Your Best Mate (still, I hope),  
Sirius _

_P.S., I was going to get you Something for your Birthday, but obviously I haven't had time yet. Maybe I can make my Parents take me to Diagon Alley over the Hols._

* * *

_Dear James,_

_I'm borrowing my parents' owl to send this, so I have no idea how long it will take to get there. I hope your birthday was good. How's Italy? Have you been to see the ruins of the old school of magic in Rome yet? I'd love to see that. I heard some of the old Roman ghosts still hang around there sometimes. Imagine what you could learn from them!_

_My parents always say they're going to take me and Nat to France someday to see where Dad's relatives came from, but it hasn't happened yet. I guess I have distant cousins at Beauxbatons, but I've never met them. Hogwarts is as far as I've ever been from home._

_So, Tildy Hathersage. That was interesting. What did your parents have to say about it? Loads, I bet. Mine would have. Lily's said she's nice. Mad about Quidditch, of course, but I don't guess you'd mind that. Anyway, well done._

_I hope you're enjoying your time with your family. They looked really happy to see you. Mine drive me mad sometimes, but it's good to be home._

_Looking forwards to hearing all about Italy._

_All the best,  
Remus _

* * *

_Dear James,_

_Happy birthday, mate! It's boring here. How's Italy? Pick me up some Italian wizard candy, will you?_

_Your mate,  
Peter _

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_I miss you. Is it OK for me to ask how you're feeling today, or is that too much?_

_It's good to be home and see Mum and Dad and Petty, but I'm starting to see why some wizards have a hard time dealing with Muggles. Everything I try to tell them about school takes ages to explain. I can't imagine how hard it would be if I hadn't been raised Muggle. I guess it's the same for you, except for your dad. It feels strange not to be at Hogwarts or use magic or see you every day. It really is a different world, isn't it? At least Sev only lives around the corner._

_Are you doing anything for exams yet? I've been working on a revision timetable. Will you give me a hand with Herbology if I keep helping you with Potions? You're better at plants than I am. I can never keep the Latin names straight. We should get together in the Refuge when we get back and go over all our notes together. Sev, too. He's the best at Potions, and he's almost as good at Defence as you._

_Anyway, I have to go. Mum says I've been out of the "real world" too long, and she and Petty are going to take me shopping. I really should be working on that Transfiguration essay, but I can probably fit it in later. Petty wants me to tell her all about witch fashions. I really have no idea._

_Hope you're doing well. Owl me soon!_

_Love,  
Lily _

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_It's Rubbish being Home. Don't know why I bothered. I'd rather be hanging around Gryffindor by Myself for two weeks than this. At least then I wouldn't have Someone telling me every five minutes what a Disappointment I am, and how I should be Ashamed of Everything._

_Mother hates my hair, even when it's pulled back. She tried to have the House-Elf cut it the other Night while I was asleep, but Regulus stopped him in time. We talked a bit. Me and Regs, I mean. He's not really that bad. Maybe when he comes to School the year after next he'll start thinking for Himself. It worked for me, didn't it? And I was twice as bad as he is. I sort of Hope he gets Sorted into Gryffindor, too, and not just because our Parents will go mental._

_Everything all right with you? I hope your Hols are going better than mine, and you're not wasting the whole time studying._

_Take care._

_Sirius_

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_I miss you, too. Last night wasn't too bad. It's usually better at home, since there's not as far to go before I'm tucked into bed and can get some proper sleep. It was really nice to wake up to an owl from you this afternoon. I got one from Sirius as well._

_Everything's good here. Mum and Dad are half-smothering me, but I don't mind so much. If they keep it up over the summer, it might drive me a bit mad. Nat's laying across the foot of my bed right now, reading one of the "Narnia" books and taking up all the room that should be for my feet. I've got so used to wallowing in those huge Hogwarts beds that I feel all scrunched up here. Once I'm of age, I'm going to Transfigure this bed to a proper size, even if it takes up most of the room, and I have to hold my breath to squeeze through the door. Being a wizard is going to spoil me._

_I know what you mean about trying to explain Hogwarts and magic to people who don't understand. I guess I can see how some wizards would get frustrated with Muggles, but really I just feel bad for people like my sister (and yours, too, from the sound of it), who will never get to live in our world, no matter how much they want to._

_I've thought about revision, but I haven't done much yet. You can look over my Herbology notes anytime you want. I need all the help I can get with Potions. I started on the Transfiguration essay my first day home, but I haven't done much since then. I don't think I'll have the energy to work on it today. Maybe tomorrow._

_Glad you are having a good holiday. Give my best to your family._

_Love,  
Remus _

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_Sorry to hear things aren't brilliant at home. I'm glad your brother managed to save your hair. I can't picture you with it short, and I bet house-elves aren't the best barbers. Also glad you smoothed things over with Regulus. I can't imagine what it would be like if Nat and I weren't speaking. You're probably right that having him in Gryffindor would be best. Any chance you can get him to ask the Hat for it when the time comes? I know you didn't ask for it, but Peter did, didn't he?_

_Things are good here. They're quiet, but you know I don't mind that. I'm not feeling well today, so I was glad to get your letter. Had one from Lily, too._

_Did you see Tildy Hathersage kiss Potter on the platform? I think you must have missed it because it was right when your dad showed up, but almost everyone else saw. I bet it will be all over the school by the time we get back. He looked pretty pleased about it. Have you had an owl from him? How's he liking Italy?_

_Oh, and speaking of girls (I know, I'm boring you now), Nat asked about you. She thinks you're "cute". Just thought I should warn you. Now you can tell your parents that a Muggle girl fancies you. I bet they'll love that._

_Hang in there. We'll be back at school before you know it._

_Remus_

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_Of course you're still my best mate, you daft git! But I still think you're a complete nutter when it comes to certain things._

_Italy is actually brilliant, so maybe some of the other stuff in History of Magic isn't as boring as Binns makes it sound, either. We went a tour to this old villa the other day, and they had these time portal thingys, where you could look through and see things that happened there thousands of years ago. You can't hear anything, though, so they have tour guides going around explaining it all. I think they must get bored and make up some of the stuff they tell the tourists. I know I would._

_I'm sorry things stink for you at home. Hope they're better now, though I know there's not much chance of that._

_I had a letter from Lupin. You really think it's him? He seems so normal. I'll think about what you said._

Vostro migliore amico _(Italian for "your best mate") (I think)  
James _

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_Have you heard from James or Sirius? I wrote to wish James a happy birthday, but I haven't had a single owl all week. I don't know how long it takes an owl to get to Italy and back. I hope he's having a good time._

_How's your holiday going? Mine's been pretty boring. I got to have tea with Uncle Constantine and his friend the other day, but besides that Mum and I haven't done anything. I'm so bored I've been making up games to play with Constantine (my puff not my uncle)._

_See you at school if I don't hear from you before._

_Peter_

* * *

_Dear Peter,_

_I had a letter from Sirius. Sounds like his holiday has been pretty grim so far. But I guess you know his family. I haven't heard from Potter at all. He's probably busy doing stuff with his parents._

_Sorry things are so boring. Things are quiet here, too. We live in the middle of nowhere, so there isn't much to do. It's starting to get more built up than it was when we moved here, though. My family actually have neighbours now, and there are some shops being put in down the road. It's nice here. There's lots of farmland and some trees and a little river I can walk to. There aren't any major roads nearby, so there's no traffic noise. I hope it stays this way._

_I'm glad you got to see your uncle, at least. Hope you come up with some good games for your puff._

_Remus_

* * *

**EVENING PROPHET**  
 _2 April 1972_

_**Domestic Dispute Ends in Tragedy**  
An Easter Sunday row between Mrs Antigone Atwood of Stotfold, Bedfordshire, and her husband George Atwood, a Muggle, ended in murder when Mrs Atwood turned the Killing Curse on her spouse. _

_Mrs Atwood, a professional crup breeder, claims not to recall the incident, but interviews conducted with the couple's children before they were Obliviated indicate a dispute over appropriate places to hide the children's Easter eggs, a Muggle tradition adopted by the family._

_The Atwoods had been married for eight years, and had two children, ages five and three._

_Mrs Atwood has been taken into Ministry custody, pending trial, and the children have been placed in foster care for the time being. Neighbours claim that this was not the first domestic dispute at the Atwood residence in recent weeks._

_Use of the Killing Curse, one of three curses classified as "Unforgivable" by the Ministry of Magic, is punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban Prison._

* * *

**DAILY PROPHET**  
 _3 April 1972_

_**Rash of Muggle Killings Sparks Ministry Investigation**  
Seven Muggle murders on Easter Sunday have launched a widespread investigation across Wizarding Britain. The Muggles all met their deaths at the hands of their magical spouses, a suspicious circumstance hinting at the possible involvement of Dark Magic. _

_The Atwood family tragedy in Stotfold, reported in yesterday's evening edition, while at first thought to be an isolated incident, has since proved to be only the first reported slaying in a spree of murders which touched every region of the country._

_In a statement released by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement last night, spokeswizard Cornelius Fudge stated that "very little is known so far, but the suspicious circumstances suggest the Imperius Curse, if you ask me." The Department is not releasing the names of the victims out of concern that it may compromise the investigation._

_The Minister for Magic urges the populace to remain calm, and asks that anyone with information about these crimes come forwards. Aurors are currently interviewing the spouses of the victims and their surviving family members, while the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is performing checks on known half-blood families to discover whether any others have been affected._

_The Imperius Curse, classified as "Unforgivable" since 1541, can be used to control the mind of a victim, forcing him to behave in ways contrary to his own will. The Ministry of Magic will shortly be distributing a pamphlet on recognising and resisting the Curse._

* * *

_Remus,_

_I just heard the news! Are you OK? I'm going straight over to check on Sev's as soon as I send this. Owl me right away!_

_Lily_

* * *

_Remus,_

_Everyone all right at your Place? Hope so. Let me Know._

_Sirius_

* * *

_Remus,_

_Are you OK? Mum's going spare. She wasn't going to even let me open a window to owl you._

_Peter_

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_We're fine. We didn't even know anything had happened until I got three owls at once from you and Sirius and Peter. We live mostly Muggle here. When I got the owls, I guessed something pretty bad must have happened, even though none of you said what, and I got Dad to tune in to the WWN._

_I can't believe it. How did you find out about it? Do you get the Prophet at home? Maybe I should start getting it, too. How much does a subscription cost?_

_Thanks for checking on me._

_Love,  
Remus _

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_We're fine. From what they're saying on the news, the families that got hit were all pure-bloods married to Muggles, and we're practically all Muggle, so I think we're safe._

_I had to explain to Nat about blood-status. That was fun. She was going spare, thinking Dad was going to go mad and kill us all. Now she just thinks pure-bloods are a bunch of creeps._

_They're not saying any names on the news, but have you heard anything? What about Potter? I haven't heard from him at all, but I guess he's been busy. Maybe he'll know more than what's in the news with his dad being an Auror and all._

_Thanks for thinking of me._

_Remus_

* * *

_Dear Peter,_

_We're fine. Thank you. I can hardly believe what's happened. I keep wondering if anyone we know lost someone. I guess we'll find out when we get back to school._

_Remus_

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_I'm so glad you're all right. From everything you've told me about your family, they all sound so lovely. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to them. Sev's family are fine, too._

_I've been writing to everyone I can think of to see if I can get anymore news than what they're saying in the Prophet, and I've just heard that Dorcas Meadowes' mother was killed. It's so awful. Poor Dorcas. I wonder if she'll be coming back to school?_

_Have you heard anything from your friends? They're not saying anything officially, of course, but I bet that Voldemort is behind it. I know his people have never done anything as big as this before, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out it was them._

_Take care of yourself and stay safe!_

_Love,  
Lily _

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_Glad you're all right, Mate. Don't know whose History of Magic notes I'd steal if anything Happened to you. Had an Owl from James last week, but nothing since the Attacks. Haven't heard any names that aren't in the News, either. See you at King's Cross if I don't hear from you before then._

_Your Creepy Pure-Blood Friend,  
Sirius _

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_Dad's been recalled from Italy because of the attacks. The Ministry caught up with us early on Monday, and we were home by Monday lunchtime. They're not saying much in the news, and Dad's not saying much when he's home (which is not very often), but I overheard him mention the name "Thomas". Isn't Aleric Thomas from the Quidditch team a half-blood? So maybe he lost a parent. That stinks. I guess we'll see who's there and who's not when we get back to school next week._

_How are things at your place? I'm guessing your parents aren't exactly in mourning over all this._

_Your mate,  
James _

* * *

_Dear James,_

_How was Italy? Remus is fine, by the way. You know, your Half-Blood friend? He Owled to let me know, but he said he hadn't heard from you. Tosser._

_That would Stink if it was Aleric Thomas's Family your Dad was talking about. He seems like a good Bloke. Not that it will make Gryffindor's chances any Worse than they already are if he's Out for a bit._

_No, my Parents are not Brokenhearted over the Attacks. Their exact words were, "Blood-Traitors get what they Deserve." Regs doesn't seem so sure about it. Maybe there's Hope for him yet. Mother and Father didn't even seem to care whether my Cousin Andromeda was in Prison for murdering her Husband. She's not, which is Good, since she's one of the only halfway Decent people in the whole Family._

_See you in a few days._

_Your Mate,  
Sirius _

_P.S., I tried to check Father's Library for books on You-Know-What. He caught me at it. At first he seemed really Pleased I'd gone straight for the Dark Magic section, but when he saw me reading about You-Know-What, well, my Ears are still ringing._

_P.P.S., Did Hathersage really Kiss you?_


	16. Alliances

"I can manage from here." Sirius grabbed his satchel roughly out of Kreacher's thin fingers and shouldered it, turning away. 

"Sirius." 

His father's voice held a warning note, and Sirius halted, shoulders hunched. 

"Your mother and I expect better report of you this term," Orion Black said gravely. "If your comportment does not improve, we will hear of it, and you and I will have words over the summer. Am I understood?" 

Sirius gritted his teeth, not turning around. "Yes, Father." 

"You may go." 

It was with a sigh of relief that Sirius cleared the barrier onto Platform 9 3/4, the tension of the last two weeks draining from his body with every step. His ordeal with his family was over, and in a moment, he would be with his friends again. 

_Some holiday,_ he thought, looking around. 

His schoolfellows appeared to be of much the same opinion, but their grim faces and worried glances likely had more to do with the recent attacks -- dubbed the "Easter Murders" by the _Daily Prophet_ \-- than with trying family situations. The voices that reached Sirius's ears were hushed, speaking in subdued murmurs. All but one, that is. 

"Remus!" 

Sirius turned, face breaking into an unconscious grin, in time to see Lily Evans flying across the platform to throw her arms around Remus Lupin. Remus smiled -- he _smiled_ \-- a look genuine happiness that transformed his face. Sirius faltered. He had never seen such a look on Remus's face before. 

Then Lily moved away to greet someone else, and that radiant smile fixed on Sirius, if possible growing even wider. 

"Sirius!" 

As he moved towards his friend, Sirius caught sight of Remus's family standing around him, and he stopped short of his intended hug, feeling uncharacteristically shy. 

"Hey," he said, patting the other boy's arm awkwardly. 

"Nat," said Remus, turing towards his family, "Mum, Dad, this is Sirius Black. He's one of my friends from Gryffindor." 

"Pleased to meet you, son." Mr Lupin smiled and held out his hand to Sirius, who shook it automatically. 

Sirius realised then what it was that had thrown him off balance. For months, he had harboured dark suspicions that these people were hurting Remus, but seeing them all together like this showed him the absurdity of that idea. If he had ever seen Remus with his family before, he would have known immediately that they would never harm him. 

Remus's mother gave him a piercing look, and he dropped his eyes guiltily, as if she could read his mind. 

"Black, did you say?" she asked. 

"Yes. Ma'am," he added, shifting uncomfortably. 

Mrs Lupin looked as though she found something amusing. "I do believe we've met before." 

He blinked at her, startled. "Er -- have we?" Remus shot his mother a curious glance. 

"Oh, you wouldn't remember it," she assured him. "It was at a Ministry Christmas party, and you were about six months old at the time. The only reason I remember is because it was my first time out among wizards." Her smile twisted a bit. "You and Remus tried to make friends then, but your mother -- ah --" 

Sirius glanced at Remus and then down at his toes. "I can guess," he said darkly. 

"Remus says you're a pure-blood." Remus's sister Natalie had blonde hair that she wore in two plaits down her back, but her brown eyes were as large and solemn as her brother's, and they fixed on him with an intense curiosity. 

"Er -- yeah," said Sirius, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. 

"You don't look creepy." 

" _Natalie!_ " cried Remus and his mother in one voice. 

The girl blushed. "Sorry," she said. "Remus told me some stuff about pure-bloods. He said you were nice, though." 

It was Remus's turn to blush at that. "Sorry. My family don't usually try so hard to embarrass me." But he looked as if he was trying not to smile. 

"Embarrassing one's children is a parental privilege," Mr Lupin informed them. "Hugs all around, and then we'll leave you alone, Remus." 

Remus relented, embracing each of his parents warmly, and his sister for twice as long. 

"I'll owl you in a few days," he promised. 

"Be careful!" his mother called before the three of them disappeared back through the barrier into the Muggle world. 

"Sorry about that," Remus said again. "They can be a bit --" 

"They're OK," Sirius assured him. "Loads nicer than mine." 

The scrap of a smile that had lingered on Remus's lips as he watched his parents depart vanished, and he looked at Sirius searchingly. "Everything OK with you?" 

"Better now that we're going back to school," said Sirius. "I just wish Regs --" 

"Sirius! Remus!" called a voice, and they looked up to see Peter waving at them from down the platform, James close behind him. 

The four boys circled up, exchanging greetings. Peter kept craning around, trying to spot who was missing. James was strangely quiet. Sirius wondered if he was still being stupid about Remus, but there was a strained look about his normally jocular best friend that didn't quite add up. 

"Everything all right?" he asked, trying to make it sound like a casual question. 

James flashed him a grin that was only slightly frayed at the edges. "Yeah. Just -- not exactly a relaxing holiday, you know?" 

"Tell me about it," said Remus, lowering his voice. "D'you know if anyone we know was hit?" 

James shrugged and shook his head, so Sirius answered for him. "James's dad mentioned the name 'Thomas', and I haven't seen Aleric Thomas yet. But I was only sort of looking." 

"Lily said Dorcas Meadowes lost her mum," Remus told them, voice dropping further still. 

Peter whistled. "Not just Gryffindor, but our year, too! I'm glad we're all OK." 

"Yeah," said James. "Me too." 

They found themselves an empty compartment on the train, and there was a halfhearted attempt at a game of Exploding Snap, but the sombre mood of their classmates was apparently contagious. Peter fell asleep, clutching his Puffskein on his lap, and James gazed out the train's window, watching the rain fall over the English countryside, while Remus read something called _The Rose and the Ring_. Sirius decided that if he was going to be bored, he might as well be usefully so, and got out his Transfiguration book, reflecting gloomily that this was still better than being at home. 

About an hour into the journey, the compartment door slid open and the Prewetts entered. Remus nodded to them, and Sirius and James greeted them with eager smiles. When no such expression was offered in return, Sirius knew something must be wrong. He set his Transfiguration text aside and sat up. 

"What's up?" asked James. 

"We've been going up and down the train, trying to find out who else is missing," Fabian said grimly. 

"Who else?" asked Peter sleepily. "Why? Who do you know that's missing?" 

Gideon's jaw clenched. "Amelia Bones's father was killed." 

"That's awful," said Remus, setting down his book. All of them knew how close the Prewetts were to the Hufflepuff girl. "I'm so sorry." 

"She owled us a few days ago to say that she and her brothers might not be back at school for a while," said Fabian. "Dunno yet how many others are gone." 

"I bet no one from Slytherin," Gideon said darkly. 

James scowled. "How many half-blood Slytherins can you name, apart from Snape?" 

"Amelia's dad wasn't even a Muggle," Gideon told them. "He was just Muggleborn. Not that it makes any difference to people like that." 

"What about you lot?" asked Fabian. "Have you heard any other names?" 

They exchanged rumours and the few small facts they had gleaned, and then the older boys departed to continue their head count. 

Fabian paused on the threshold of the compartment. "This is only the beginning," he said gravely. "I hope you lads are paying attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts. You're probably going to need it sooner than you think." 

* * *

The rain grew heavier as darkness fell. By the time the train decanted them onto the platform at Hogsmeade Station, it was coming down so heavily that they were all soaked through in moments. The carriage ride up to the school was as silent as the train journey had been, bar a few muttered complaints about damp underclothes. 

Students filed into the Great Hall for supper without any of the usual chatter, glancing furtively up and down their House tables and whispering the names of the absent to their neighbours. Aleric Thomas was indeed among the missing, but he and the Meadowes girl appeared to be the only two from the Gryffindor table. 

Dumbledore, who had greeted them at the beginning of the year and again after Christmas with a smiling welcome, looked as grim as any of them had ever seen him as he rose from his high-backed chair at the centre of the staff table. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said gravely, "our world has suffered a terrible tragedy, and many of you are still reeling from the shock of it. Let me begin by assuring you that no student of this school was killed in the attacks last week, but some among our number have lost parents and loved ones, and it may be some time before they are able to join us once more. 

"The tragedy we have suffered is a tragedy of ignorance and intolerant thinking. Those responsible for the attacks hope to force us through fear to bow to their ideas of what is right. _We must not do this._ It is only if we stand united in defence of the truth and of one another that justice will prevail. 

"Look around you. Look at the faces at your House tables, and at the tables next to you. You may see friends, siblings, children, someone you cannot stand the sight of, but what I see when I look around this room is the future of the Wizarding world. Its defence and preservation lie in your hands. I therefore urge you to study, educate yourselves, and above all, practise kindness and tolerance towards your fellow students. Your fate may be linked to the fate of anyone in this room in hundreds of unexpected ways. 

"Lastly, let me assure you that you are safe within these walls. The staff of this school have my complete confidence, and in addition to the usual measures, several new precautions have been put into place to warn of any possible danger, and to defend this school, if necessary. So please, do not allow worry or fear to prevent you from focusing on your studies, or enjoying the excellent feast that has been prepared for you." 

The atmosphere in the Great Hall relaxed slightly as Dumbledore took his seat and the food appeared. Voices returned to more or less normal levels, though the subject matter remained the same. 

Sirius glanced at the small knot of scared-looking first year girls with whom Remus was sitting. Though they had all their classes together, Sirius had never really spoken to Dorcas Meadowes. He tried to imagine what it would be like if one of his own roommates had failed to return from the holidays, and the resulting squirm in his belly made it difficult to swallow his mouthful of steak pie. 

Up until the attacks, Sirius had enjoyed the novel sensation of caring about people and having real friends for the first time in his life. Now he realised that caring had a price. 

When he had first heard about the attacks, he had felt sickened, partly by his parents' smirking response to the news, but mostly because one of the people he now cared about was a half-blood, and possibly in danger. His owl had been hurled out the window as fast as Sirius could scribble, and his fretful mood all that day had led him to make a few uncensored remarks, which in turn had caused him to be sent to bed without supper. That hadn't mattered, though. No sooner had he slammed his bedroom door behind him than Midnight was back with the news that Remus was all right. Sirius had fallen asleep that night with the scrap of parchment still clutched in his hand. 

He glanced at his friend over his pumpkin juice. If Remus really was a werewolf -- and Sirius was firmly convinced that he was -- then he was always going to be in danger. Sirius knew how wizards regarded werewolves, and how they were likely to treat Remus if they ever found out. They might even shun Sirius, simply for befriending him. It was an unpleasant thought, but somehow it didn't make him want to pursue a friendship with Remus any less. 

_What they think doesn't matter,_ Sirius thought savagely, glaring at the Slytherin table where the loudest chatter was coming from. _All they care about is how things look. I'm not going to be like that._

* * *

"It's not going to work," said Remus, but he held out the morsel anyway. 

Peter only looked more determined. "Constantine loves chocolate biscuits. You'll see." 

While this might have been true, it was clear that months of acquaintance had not made the Puffskein any fonder of Remus. It cowered in Peter's lap, trembling and whimpering, and when Peter gave it an encouraging push in Remus's direction, the tiny ball of fluff squeaked in alarm and rolled right off the bed, vanishing from sight. 

Sirius snorted as Peter tumbled after his pet, crouching on all fours and peering into the dusty darkness under his bed. 

"Told you," Remus muttered, returning to his unpacking. He was in no mood to be shunned by his friend's fluffy pet this evening, after Dumbledore's pleas for tolerance and unity. _People think what they think,_ he thought grumpily. _You can't make them be tolerant._

"I'll have the chocolate biscuit if Pete's puff doesn't want it," volunteered Sirius, who was sitting on Potter's bed, where the two of them had made a game of trying to make one of Potter's Quidditch action figures fall off its tiny broomstick by swooping it back and forth between their wands. 

Remus eyed the remains of the biscuit doubtfully. "It's -- sort of crumbly." 

"Anyway, you can't," said Peter, reappearing from his sojourn beneath the bed with his hair all mussed. "I need it to find Constantine." 

He snatched it up, leaving a chocolate smear on the comforter, and proceeded to crush it into sticky crumbs, which he scattered on the floor around his bed. 

"You're going to attract mice," Remus observed. 

"Why?" said Potter, a little sharply. "Do they like you more than Puffskeins do?" 

Remus shut his mouth, but he caught the quelling look Sirius shot at Potter. He wondered if they had sorted out whatever had been going on between them, or whether Potter was still upset. About what, Remus had no better guess than he had before the turbulent holidays. 

Peter sat on the floor with his back against Remus's bed, surrounded by biscuit crumbs. "Do you think it's true what Dumbledore said?" he asked. "Is Hogwarts really safe?" 

"Worried someone's going to sneak in here and hex your pet?" Sirius teased. 

Peter blushed. "No. I just --" 

"You're safe here, Pete." The usual humour was absent from Potter's tone. "If Dumbledore says it, then it's true. He's one of the greatest wizards alive. You think your mum could keep you any safer at home?" 

"I guess not," Peter said, picking nervously at the carpet. 

"They're not out to get you, anyway, mate," Sirius scowled. "What would be the point of that? Your family's almost as pure as mine. It's people like Remus's family who have to worry." 

"Thanks," Remus said drily. 

Sirius had the grace to blush, at least. "I didn't mean it like that." 

Remus gave him a half-smile. "I know. And I'm not worried. Not really. My family's so far under the radar that I doubt most people even know we exist." 

"Radar?" his roommates looked confused. 

"Muggle expression," Remus explained. "It just means we don't attract a lot of attention to ourselves. Mum and Nat are Muggles, and Dad's had a Muggle job since -- since I was a kid." He turned away quickly to hide the flush that stained his cheeks at the almost-slip. 

"Yeah," said Potter quietly, and Remus was almost certain that the other boy's eyes were still on him. "I guess we're all safe." 

* * *

Remus was putting the finishing touches on the Transfiguration essay he hadn't quite managed to finish over the holidays, when his bed curtains rustled and parted. He was mildly surprised, not to learn that he had a visitor, but that it was Sirius. He had been half-expecting Potter. Between their discussion earlier in the evening and Potter's demeanor over the past month, Remus had begun to form the distinct impression that Potter had something he wanted to say, and was only waiting until he found the right words. But apparently Potter wasn't the only one with something on his mind. 

"You awake?" whispered Sirius. 

"Yeah." Remus moved over to make room for his friend. 

Sirius sat down at the foot of the bed, hugging his knees, and was silent for so long that Remus went back to scratching down a few more words on the parchment that lay unrolled across his Transfiguration text. 

"You are worried about them, aren't you?" he said at last. 

Remus, who had been distractedly nudging two words farther apart with his wand to add a missed one between them, looked up. "Who?" 

"Your family. You said you weren't worried, but I'd think you'd have to be." 

"Yeah." He looked down at his quill, twirling it between his fingers, and then back up at the other boy's troubled expression. "What about you?" 

"Me?" Sirius looked surprised. "Why would I be worried about my family?" 

Remus shrugged and shoved his homework onto the nightstand, reclining against a pillow. "You're worried about something." 

Sirius made a face. "I just spent the last two weeks getting called a traitor by everyone from my father to our house-elf." 

"Sorry," said Remus with sympathy. "That stinks." 

"The thing is," Sirius said slowly, "I keep wondering if it's true. I mean, up until October, I thought just like they did, and now --" 

Remus frowned. "I don't think that makes you a traitor. It's not like you chose what family you were born into. You can't really pick a side until you start thinking for yourself." 

"Is that what we're doing?" Sirius asked. "Picking sides?" 

"It's war, isn't it?" said Remus uncomfortably. "At least, the Prewetts think it will be. You kind of have to choose." 

Sirius scowled. "Not sure I fancy actually declaring war on my family. Not when I still have to go home over the summer." 

"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant you have to decide where you stand, and not let other people push you around and tell you what to think." 

The ghost of a smile passed over Sirius's lips. "I think I can probably manage that much." 

"Meanwhile," Remus continued, "you go home for the summer, try not to stick your neck out too much, and before you know it, you're back here." 

"That's not as easy as it sounds," Sirius said bitterly. "Seems like even talking to Regs counts as 'sticking my neck out'. D'you know they shut him up in the cellar overnight when he tried to write to me?" 

Remus stared. "You're taking the piss." Things like that only ever happened in the works of Dickens, he was sure. 

But Sirius was shaking his head. "He told me. Snuck into my room the first night I was back. That's why he didn't try writing to me again. He hates it down there. Scared of the dark. Can't say I blame him." Sirius shivered. "It's pretty horrible. Damp, too. I used to imagine all kinds of things hiding down there, waiting for me." 

"They -- shut you down there, too?" Remus sat up, horrified. 

Sirius only shrugged. "Not this time. And when they did, I earned it. Usually by opening my mouth." 

"God," Remus shuddered. "I can't imagine ...." 

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. Yours don't seem the type." 

Remus almost snorted at that, and leaned back against the pillows once more. After all, when he was at home, his parents did shut him up in the cellar on a regular basis. 

"So if your brother can't write to you, and you can't write to him, how are we going to talk him out of Slytherin and get him thinking for himself?" Remus asked. 

"We?" Sirius looked surprised. "If my parents won't let me talk to him, they definitely won't let you." 

"Doesn't mean I can't help," said Remus. Changing one mind at a time didn't seem like much of a way to win a war, but what else could they do? "Which House d'you think he should be in?" 

Sirius shifted to stretch out on his front next to Remus, chin resting thoughtfully on the backs of his folded hands. "Dunno. Never really thought about it. Obviously, I'd like it if he was in Gryffindor, but --" 

"But?" Remus turned on his side and raised himself up on one elbow. 

"Well, he's braver than Pete, I guess," Sirius said, "but not by much." 

"Is he loyal?" Remus asked. 

Sirius snorted. "If you had any idea what pure-bloods think of Hufflepuff -- But yeah, Regs is loyal. At least, he is until he's scared." 

"He's only ten," Remus pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, I'm eleven," Sirius said tartly. "And your sister's how old? Eight? She didn't look scared to be surrounded by wizards, even after you told her some of us are mad Muggle-killers. And she's a girl." 

Remus smiled drowsily at that. "Nat would be in Gryffindor in a second. No question." 

"Too thick to be scared, eh?" Sirius teased. 

Remus nudged his friend's leg with his toe. "Just like you. Maybe your brother got all the brains in the family. How about Ravenclaw?" 

A yawn interrupted Sirius's grin. "Maybe. He doesn't read as much as you do, Professor, but he keeps a diary. That's a Ravenclawish thing to do, isn't it?" 

"I'd say so." Remus's eyelids were beginning to grow heavy. "Maybe the Hat'll put him there." 

Sirius frowned, eyelashes fluttering closed. "He'll ask for Slytherin. Wouldn't want to disappoint our parents." 

"You asked for Slytherin," Remus pointed out, squirming his way lower onto the pillow. 

"Yeah," Sirius mumbled. His hair fell over his closed eyes as he turned his head to rest his cheek on his folded hands. "Stupid, really. I like it here." 

"Me, too," said Remus, and he was asleep. 

* * *

Sirius nudged James in the ribs, and he closed his mouth. 

"Did she just --?" he whispered to his best friend. 

" _Shhh!_ " Sirius hissed, eyes intent on the front of the classroom. 

James was sure he was hearing things. Normally-boring Professor Tynedale, who had spent the last week plodding through a special unit on the Imperius Curse -- what it looked like and why it was Unforgivable -- was standing in front of a class of Gryffindor first years and telling them that she was about to use the curse on each of them in turn. 

"There is no known means of resisting either the Killing Curse or the Cruciatus Curse," explained the Defence mistress. "The Imperius Curse, however, is another matter. The witch or wizard with a disciplined mind may recognise the curse and throw it off. Since there is no means of teaching this resistance without invoking the curse itself, Headmaster Dumbledore and I have petitioned the Ministry to allow the use of it in a controlled classroom environment for educational purposes. We believe it is important -- even vital -- that you learn this skill." 

The rest of the class looked nervous, but James felt a thrill of excitement in his belly. To be allowed to participate in something so forbidden -- James had inherited an enormous respect for Dumbledore from his father, but that didn't mean the man wasn't completely off his rocker. He glanced at Sirius, who flashed a grin at him. _This should be fun,_ it seemed to say. 

Unfortunately, Tynedale did her level best to make the exercise as boring as possible. _Typical,_ James thought grumpily as he took out parchment, quill and ink and prepared to write a list of all the neutralising spells and jinxes he could remember from the previous term, while Tynedale wandered around the classroom and attempted the curse on each of them. 

James wasn't worried. His parents were endlessly telling him how stubborn he was, and Defence Against the Dark Arts was one of his best subjects. Now that he knew about the Imperius Curse and what it was supposed to feel like, resisting it should be no problem. 

_Expelliarmus,_ he wrote, watching the professor out of the corner of his eye. _Noodle-Arms Jinx, Jelly-Legs Jinx, Stupefy, Petrificus Totalus, Leg Locker, Mouth Seal_ .... When he couldn't think of any more, he began the list over again. 

He was shocked when Tynedale returned to the front of the classroom and asked them to write their names on their parchments and pass them to the front. He hadn't noticed his mind being invaded. Had she missed him? As he scrawled his name at the top of the parchment, his eyes skimmed what he had written and stopped dead on the words, _How long, O naive ones, will you love being simple-minded?_

I didn't write that, he thought. He didn't even know what "naive" meant. And yet, it was his handwriting. 

When he saw Sirius craning to try and read what he had written, James instinctively turned the parchment over to hide his failure, but when Sirius offered his own, he couldn't refuse. He had remembered two spells James had missed, but had forgotten about the Mouth-Sealing Charm. And near the bottom of the page was written, _I have not listened to the voice of my teachers, Nor inclined my ear to my instructors._

James made a face, grabbed his parchment back from Sirius, folded them both in half, and passed them to the front of the class. 

As Tynedale sorted through the stack of parchment, James leaned over to Sirius. "Did you feel anything?" he whispered. 

Sirius shook his head. "Think anyone managed it?" 

"Doubt it," muttered James. He and Sirius were two of the best in their year at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and if they hadn't been able to do it -- 

"Well done, Mr Lupin," Professor Tynedale beamed, holding up a neatly-written and uninterrupted list of jinxes. "How did you manage it?" 

James gaped across Sirius to where Lupin was sitting with Lily Evans, ears turning pink at their teacher's praise. 

"Oh," he said. "I -- er -- just -- just did, I guess." 

Tynedale raised her eyebrows, but did not press the issue, instead holding up a second parchment, showing where a list of spells had been broken by a squiggled line and a few stray marks. "You can see here where Miss Evans fought the curse for control of her mind." 

James scowled at that. He liked to think of himself as a fair-minded sort, but it really didn't seem right that a Muggleborn girl should do so well at something that he, the son of an Auror, had failed utterly at. She must have learned some secret trick from Lupin. Full of secrets, that one, especially if one believed Sirius. 

The remainder of the class was spent on Tynedale once more applying the curse to each of them, though this time with some warning. When she pointed her wand at James and spoke the word, " _Imperio_ ," he did notice an odd sensation washing over him, and a small voice in the back of his mind, urging him to do things that were not his own idea. He stumbled and fell to his knees when the voice urged him to dance, but whether such clumsiness could be counted as success was debatable. 

If he himself had done better, he might have been amused when Sirius shook his head a couple of times, then climbed up onto his seat and began leaping from desk to desk. Peter, with every appearance of deliberate intent, walked about the room on his hands, reciting limericks. When Lupin's turn came, James watched curiously as his roommate closed his eyes, took a few slow, deep breaths, and remained in his seat. Evans did something similar, but her breaths were sharper, and her hands clenched the edge of the desk before her. 

When class ended, Tynedale warned them to be on the alert, as she would be casting the curse on students at random throughout the coming week. 

"You just know Gid and Fabe are going to ask how that class went," Sirius muttered as they passed a cluster of fifth year Ravenclaws. 

"I know," James replied gloomily. "At least I felt it the second time." 

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Not that I could do a bloody thing about it. Humiliating, that." 

James glanced over his shoulder to where Lupin and Evans were following, their heads bent together in discussion. "What d'you think Lupin's secret is?" 

Sirius smirked. "Which one?" 

Professor Flitwick had them working on a Sticking Charm that James had already mastered, and his thoughts kept wandering back to Lupin and his easy resistance of the Imperius Curse. That couldn't be a werewolf thing, could it? No, Evans had managed it, too, and she certainly wasn't a werewolf. He didn't think she had ever missed a class. 

Come to that, James wasn't completely convinced that Lupin was a werewolf. While he had been able to come up with no better theory to fit the available evidence, the fact remained that James had never met anyone who matched his idea of what a werewolf was less than Remus Lupin. 

Like all wizard children, he had been raised on campfire tales of savage beasts, and men made slaves to their animal nature. At least once a year, the _Daily Prophet_ reported the grim details of a deliberate werewolf attack, and while nothing had been proven as yet against Fenrir Greyback, there was little doubt in anyone's mind that he was behind many of them. If Lupin had a savage animal nature, he hid it well. 

James shot a covert glance at Lupin, who was meticulously fitting together the last pieces of the shattered teacup he had been given to repair. No, he couldn't be. It simply wasn't possible. 

And yet, he had disappeared on a few nights when Sirius insisted the moon had been full. But then, Sirius was mad. Everyone knew that. He was completely convinced that Lupin was the Hogwarts werewolf, and nothing James could say would change his mind. He and Peter had woken up the morning after returning from the Easter holiday to find Sirius sound asleep on Lupin's bed, and the two of them practically snuggling. He had teased Sirius for a mother hen, and Sirius, who often awoke in a foul mood, had snatched up Lupin's wand and hexed James's pants two sizes smaller. 

_Utterly mad,_ James thought, shaking his head. 

The truth was that he didn't know enough hard facts about werewolves to prove the matter one way or the other, and between waiting around for the full moon to resolve things, the escalation of homework in advance of exams, and the Prewetts being too distracted by other matters for adventuring, James was beginning to get fidgety. 

_"Educate yourself", is it?_ he thought, remembering Dumbledore's words. Perhaps it was time he did just that. 

* * *

James climbed the steps to the Owlery before supper the following weekend, looking over his letter to his parents and wondering if there was anything else he should add. He didn't really have much to say, since he had owled them only two days before, but until those responsible for the Easter Murders were caught, it was comforting to have a steady stream of owls from home, letting him know things were all right there. 

When he reached the top of the stairs and entered the hooting, fluttering tower, he discovered that he was not alone. Lupin was standing on tiptoes, leaning out one of the tower's narrow windows. James didn't think he'd made enough noise coming in to be heard over the rustle of the owls, but Lupin turned, looking unsurprised to find him there. 

"Hey," said James uncomfortably. 

Lupin only motioned for silence, and beckoned him over to the window. He approached warily and peered over Lupin's shoulder. 

Dusky evening light still glowed in the hollows of the Hogwarts grounds, and by it James could make out three figures slowly approaching the school. 

"Who --?" he began, but then he saw the other two exiting the castle almost directly below their vantage point, loping across the grounds towards the new arrivals, and he knew. 

"Amelia Bones and her brothers are back," Lupin said softly. 

The two boys watched in silence as the Prewett twins embraced the girl, her exhaustion clear in the slump of her shoulders even at such a distance, and solemnly shook hands with each of the younger boys. James and Lupin remained at the window until the sad little party disappeared back into the school. 

With a sigh, Lupin turned away. "That could be one of us, someday." He glanced at the letter crumpled in James's fist. "You writing home again?" 

"Yeah." James unclenched his hand and began trying to smooth out the sweat-damp parchment. "You?" 

"Almost every day," Lupin admitted. "I don't think anything will happen to them, but --" 

"It's always better to know," James finished, understanding completely. 

Lupin nodded. He was trying to coax a tawny owl down from its perch, but the owl was having none of it. When Lupin made a sudden grab, the owl hopped out of the way and clacked its beak warningly. 

_Owls don't like him either,_ thought James, remember Peter's Puffskein, which had only turned up again a few days before. Sirius had found it cowering in the rubbish bin, dust bunnies and chocolate wrappers clinging to its fur. James grinned at the memory of how forlorn it had looked, wet from its bath. 

"Here, let me," he said, offering the tawny owl his arm. It eyed him warily, gave an owlish shrug, and stepped up, talons clinging to James's robes. 

"Thanks," said Lupin, handing over his letter so James could tie it to the owl's leg. "I hate using school owls, but Veteran takes forever, and I sent Wol off to Nat yesterday." 

"Quaffle's not back yet, either," said James, releasing the tawny owl out the window into the gathering darkness. 

Remus lit his wand so that James could better see the available selection of owls. "I'd be worried, too, if my dad was an Auror." 

"I'm not worried," James told him, absently stroking the white feathers of a snowy owl. "Not really. But -- those people are out there, and he's got to go looking for them." 

"The Prewetts said your dad's one of the best." 

Lupin was trying to be comforting, but James made a face as he tied his letter to the owl's leg. "That just makes him more of a target, doesn't it?" 

Most people would have offered meaningless reassurances, but Remus Lupin was not most people. "Yeah, I guess it does." 

They were silent for a moment as they watched the pale speck of the owl disappear into the night. And then, surprisingly, Lupin said, "My dad used to work for the Ministry." 

James stared at him. Lupin almost never volunteered information about himself. "What did he do?" 

Lupin shrugged uncomfortably. "Nothing important. But -- he made someone dangerous pretty angry once. That's sort of why we went underground." 

"Anyone I'd've heard of?" James asked curiously. 

"Probably," said Lupin. "I shouldn't really talk about it, though." 

"Are they still after your dad?" Something like that would certainly explain a lot of Lupin's secretive behaviour. 

Lupin shook his head. "I don't think so." 

"But you still worry." 

Lupin's smile was lopsided. "Can't help it. They're all I have." 

"I know what you mean." James leaned against a grimy wall. "I don't have any aunts or uncles, and I never knew my grandparents. I had a few friends before school, I guess, but we weren't what you'd call close." 

Lupin leaned on the wall next to him. "You've got Sirius now." 

"Yeah." James grinned. "Mental, that one." 

"Completely," Lupin agreed. "But he's still a pretty good bloke." 

"You two seem to get along all right," James observed. "And you've got that Evans bird as well." 

"Yeah, Lily's brilliant." 

"D'you fancy her?" James asked curiously. 

Lupin shook his head. "Nah; nothing like that. But she's the best mate I could ever ask for." 

"You seem like a pretty good bloke, too," said James. 

"You say that like it surprises you," Lupin observed, raising his eyebrows. "What did you think? That I hex old ladies in my spare time?" 

James looked at Lupin for a long moment. Was it possible for him to be both a werewolf and a good bloke? Lupin was nothing like James's ideas of what a werewolf should be. If he was one in spite of that, maybe that meant James's ideas were wrong. Dumbledore had urged tolerance. If Lupin was a werewolf, and Madam Pomfrey was treating him, then Dumbledore must know about it, must have thought it was safe to bring him into the school. And if there was one person in the world besides his parents who James trusted without question, it was Albus Dumbledore. 

"I think maybe Dumbledore's right," James said slowly. "And the Prewetts." 

"How so?" Lupin looked puzzled. 

James bit his lip, waving his hand vaguely. "This thing -- what's going on out there. It's not going to be over anytime soon, and it's probably going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. I think -- I think we're going to need all the friends we can get. I was wondering --" 

"What?" 

"You can throw off the Imperius Curse like it's nothing," said James. "Can you teach me how to do that?" 

Lupin smiled. "Sure. We can start after supper."


	17. Operation Moony

Sirius wiped his sweaty palms on his robes and tried to remember what Professor McGonagall had just said so that he could copy it down into his notes. Something about finding one shape inside another. Something about this being on the exam. No, it was no good. Whatever it was had gone, and now he had missed whatever came after, trying to figure it out. 

He glanced at Remus again out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth went dry. Tonight was the night. The full moon. Tonight, he and James were going to find out for sure if their mysterious friend really was a werewolf. 

Just as Sirius had expected, Remus was moody, distant and distracted, and seemed even less inclined to take notes than Sirius himself was. Just to be sure, he shot a look over at Evans, and then at James. Yes, both of them had almost filled their parchments. Good. He felt a bit guilty that he would not be able to offer Remus any notes to copy from, but he had been unable to focus on anything all day except the upcoming adventure. 

They had discussed it briefly, late the previous night, hidden behind the curtains of James's bed after the others had gone to sleep. 

"Not a word to Pete or the Prewetts," Sirius had whispered. "They're not part of this." 

"I know," James had said testily. It was not the first time Sirius had insisted on secrecy. 

James had been less of an arse towards Remus over the past week, but there was no telling if he was about to start up again once they found out for sure. Sirius hoped he wasn't going to have to hit his best friend. 

The Prewett twins, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the possible existence of a werewolf at Hogwarts in the aftermath of the Easter Murders. They spent most of their time with Amelia Bones, working on forming an Advanced Defence Club for older students who wanted to spend more time practising Defence Against the Dark Arts. They had all but forgotten their young protégés, except to take them aside near the start of term and tell them that if they ever wanted to talk about everything that was going on, the first years knew where to find them. 

Peter would be easy to dodge, but they would have to come up with a story to tell him afterwards about what they had been doing, and hope that he wasn't still sulking about being left out by the time Remus returned to the dormitory the following evening. It was vital to the plan that Remus should not suspect he had been found out. 

After receiving a stormy look from Professor McGonagall for having completely failed to turn a matchbox into anything at all, Sirius and his fellow Gryffindors were dismissed to return to their dormitory, there to drop off their school things and spend the time until supper at study or leisure, according to their natures. 

Sirius panicked a bit when Remus vanished while he was in the toilets. James said he was fairly certain Remus had just gone to study with Evans, but when Sirius went to check the library, he couldn't find either of them. He made a detour past the hospital wing on his way back, but only saw Madam Pomfrey restocking a supply cabinet. 

Fortunately for their plans, Remus turned up at supper, still in Evans' company. Sirius watched covertly as his friend ate enough to feed a small army, without taking part in any conversation or appearing to notice what was on his plate. When the last of the food had vanished and people began to rise from their seats, Sirius inclined his head towards James. 

"Ready for Operation Moony?" he whispered. 

"You know that's a really stupid name, right?" muttered James. 

"I like it." 

When they left the Great Hall, they stuck with their fellow Gryffindors, but noted that Remus lagged farther and farther behind. 

"Last one to the portrait of the Fat Lady is a Slytherin!" Sirius declared, and dashed ahead, with James and Peter close on his heels. 

He and James grabbed at one another's robes, as if trying to hold each other back, letting Peter have a decent lead, and then they ducked into a side passage, crouching in the shadows as the rest of their Housemates passed, and a moment later, Remus. They held their breath, waiting for a count of ten before peering around the corner to see which way he turned, and then kicked off their shoes and followed in silent stocking feet. 

Remus met Madam Pomfrey at the entrance to the hospital wing while Sirius and James pressed their backs into an alcove too far down the corridor to overhear the few words their friend exchanged with the matron. Then Madam Pomfrey drew her wand and performed some sort of spell that made them both not exactly invisible, but hard to look at or notice. Sirius was fairly certain that if he and James hadn't known that the two of them were standing right there, they wouldn't have been able to see them at all. 

"Cor, that'd be a handy charm to learn," breathed James, admiring. "Wish we'd heard the words." 

They followed the indistinct shapes down the great staircase and into the entrance hall, and there they were forced to stop. Pomfrey and Remus continued out the main doors of the castle, but there was no way Sirius and James could risk going out into the open without being seen. 

James kept a lookout on the stairs so that no one could sneak up on them while Sirius watched through the crack between the great wooden doors. Squinting to make sure he didn't lose sight of the two figures in the dim evening light, he saw them hurry down the castle grounds towards -- towards the Whomping Willow? The tree's heavy branches waved threateningly as they approached, but then Pomfrey did something, and it fell still. As he watched, the hunched figure of Remus Lupin approached the tree and seemed to disappear between its roots. 

"There must be a secret underground chamber or something," he told James a moment later as they crouched in a broom cupboard, waiting for Pomfrey to pass. "The tree guards the entrance so he can't get out. It's sort of brilliant." 

James nodded. "Cecilia Hathersage said the Whomping Willow only got planted last year, and no one knew why. I guess we know now." 

Sirius eyed his best friend. "So you believe it's him?" 

"I guess I have to." 

They waited, breathless, as the castle doors creaked open and footsteps echoed across the entrance hall and back up the great staircase. 

"So what now?" whispered James once silence had returned. "Back to the dormitory?" 

Sirius bit his lip. "I want to go down to the forest," he said. "You don't have to come if you don't want to." 

James shook his head. "You think I'd let you go alone and maybe get eaten by one of those giant spider things? No way. Someone's got to watch your back." 

Sirius grinned. This was all part of what made James the most brilliant best mate in the world. He really hoped he wasn't going to have to hit him. "All right, then. Let's go." 

Darkness was falling, but the moon had not risen yet as they crossed the school grounds, hurrying towards the pooling shadows of the Forbidden Forest. They found a sheltered spot with a good view of the Whomping Willow, and settled themselves onto the thick mat of fallen leaves and needles of yesteryear. 

"What're we waiting for?" asked James. 

Sirius shrugged. "Dunno." 

"Why do you care so much about all this werewolf stuff, anyway?" 

Sirius shook his head. "Dunno," he said again. "It's just -- different, isn't it?" 

"I guess it is that," said James. "D'you know you're a funny bloke?" 

But Sirius hadn't heard him. His chin jerked up, head turning towards Hogsmeade, and he grasped his friend's arm with both hands. "Did you hear that?" 

"What?" said James. 

The shriek sounded again in the distance. 

"The creature transforms," said a soft voice behind them, and both boys jumped. 

James had his wand out and lit first, but Sirius wasn't far behind. The wandglow revealed a young centaur, by the look of him no older than themselves. He had white-blond hair and a coltish palomino body which was still losing some of its shaggy winter coat. In one hand, he carried a strung bow, and on his back was a quiver of arrows. 

"What do you know about it?" Sirius asked accusingly. He hated being taken by surprise. 

The centaur gave him a cold look. "I know what the centaurs know. That the creature cub leaves the castle on the night when the moon is brightest to take refuge in the village." 

"Merlin's beard," breathed James. "The Shrieking Shack!" 

As if to highlight this revelation, the moon broke through the clouds on the horizon, and a long, mournful howl drifted over them on the wind. Sirius shivered. 

"What do you here, human foals?" the centaur asked. "The forest is no place for you." 

"'Human foals'," Sirius sneered. "We're looking out for our mate is what we're doing. What're you doing here?" 

"I keep watch," said the young centaur simply. "My herd owe the creature cub a debt of gratitude." He touched his right shoulder where a scar in the shape of two puncture marks still showed pink. 

"You mean you've been here every full moon since he stunned that spider thing?" asked Sirius. 

The centaur nodded. "A creature-friend should not be left alone in his suffering." 

"But he is alone," James pointed out. "He doesn't even know you're here, does he?" 

The centaur shrugged a shoulder. "I do what can be done. But if you are truly friends, and if you are here to keep the vigil this night, then I am relieved of my duty." 

"We're staying," said Sirius firmly without looking at James. 

"Then I shall return to the herd." He bowed solemnly to them. "I do not doubt that we shall meet again. I am called Firenze." 

"Sirius," Sirius said shortly. "And this is James. The 'creature cub' has a name, too. It's Remus." 

"Well met," said Firenze, and turned to go. 

"You're -- centaurs, I mean -- you're not afraid of him, then?" James asked suddenly. 

Firenze paused. "No. We have not the mindless fear common to lower creatures. We know that his kind does not usually hunt ours, and we are capable of defending ourselves." He vanished into the shadows without a sound. 

James settled back down onto the leaves with a sigh. "I've changed my mind. He's a funny bloke. Compared with him, you're dead normal." 

"Yeah." Sirius was still staring at the spot where Firenze had disappeared, fist clenched around his wand. 

"Might as well make yourself comfortable, if we're staying," quipped James. "Thanks for volunteering me, by the way." 

Sirius extinguished his wandlight and sat down. "You don't have to stay." 

"But you are." It wasn't a question. 

Sirius nodded. It wasn't just that he had told the centaur that he would; he wanted to be there when Remus reappeared in the morning, as if by keeping vigil through the dark hours of the night, he was helping somehow. 

"Then I'm staying, too. It will be a rugged and manly adventure." 

"Thanks," Sirius grinned. "I'd probably get bored, sitting out here all by myself." 

"It's not all for you," James said. "He's not a bad bloke, Remus. I guess he can't help what happened to him." 

Sirius's grin widened. "Changed your mind, have you? I thought maybe. First you went off about him being -- you know. And then I come back to the room the other day to find you holding hands." 

James punched him in the shoulder. "I told you. We were just practising meditation. That's how he manages the Imperius Curse like he does." 

Sirius settled back onto his elbows in the leaves. "So you sorted things out?" 

"We -- talked about things. The other day in the Owlery." James lay back, hands folded behind his head, staring up at the night sky through the leafy branches. 

"Like what?" 

"Family stuff. My dad being an Auror and having to track down -- those kinds of people." 

Sirius lowered his eyes, ashamed. "I didn't think about that. I guess you must be worried." 

"He knew I was," said James. "Remus. He thinks about things more than most people, I guess." 

Another yelping howl floated through the air and Sirius hugged his knees. "Can't imagine why." 

"It's a pretty raw deal for anyone," agreed James, "let alone a kid." 

"I tried to read up about it," said Sirius. "About werewolves. But Pomfrey's cleaned the library right out. All I could find was an entry in _Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them_, and it didn't say much." 

James was silent for a moment. "I stole one of Pomfrey's books," he confessed. "After he and I talked, I waited for her to nip out to the loo, and I grabbed one." 

"I want to read it," Sirius said immediately. He reached into the pocket of his robes to touch the crumpled Ministry pamphlet he still carried. "What did it say?" 

"Loads of stuff. Most of it pretty awful," James told him. "But -- it also said that werewolves aren't any worse than regular wizards most of the time." 

"Told you so." 

James wrinkled his nose at that. "Anyway, if that's true, and if Dumbledore's OK with him being here, then I guess I am, too." 

"Good," said Sirius. "Because if you were planning to start being an arse again, I was going to thump you, best mate or no." 

James grinned. "You could try." 

"You're shorter and skinnier than me," Sirius pointed out. "You think I couldn't take you?" 

"You? You're all posh and delicate. And I'm fast," said James, pinching Sirius hard on the side, and rolling away before he could retaliate. 

There was a brief scuffle that ended with James face-down in the leaf mulch, and Sirius sitting on his back, saying "I told you so" again as he wiped a smear of dirt off his cheek with his sleeve. 

"Gerroff," said James's muffled voice. 

Sirius let him up, and even helped him brush the dirt and leaves from his robes. 

"I was wrong about you being delicate," James informed him as they sat down again, leaning back against a tree. "You weigh a tonne." 

Once the heat of their brief exercise wore off, Sirius began to shiver. It was a cold spring night, and neither of them had thought to fetch their cloaks from the dormitory before supper. 

"I know snuggling's out, as it's a manly adventure," Sirius said, "but what about huddling for warmth?" 

James considered for a moment. "I suppose that would be all right. My arse is about frozen to the ground." 

They made a nest of leaves, James placing a couple of Warming Charms on it, and Sirius ensuring they still had a good view of the Whomping Willow, and they nestled down into it, pulling their robes tight around them. James closed his eyes. 

"You going to sleep, mate?" Sirius asked. 

"No. Just resting my eyes. You?" 

"No. I'm going to keep watch. You can sleep if you want to, though." 

"I'll be fine," James yawned. "We're going to be useless in Double Potions tomorrow, though." 

"Just have to let Pete do all the work," Sirius said comfortably. "Imagine Remus's surprise when we all wind up in the hospital wing together." 

James chuckled sleepily, and a moment later began to snore softly against Sirius's shoulder. 

Sirius couldn't help nodding off a few times, but he came awake again with every distant howl from the village, shivering with something more than cold and wondering if the night seemed as long to Remus as it did to him. 

The burst of birdsong as the eastern horizon began to show a tinge of pink seemed absurdly loud and entirely inappropriate to Sirius's mood. He wondered fuzzily how James could possibly sleep through such a racket. There was frost on his robes -- _frost!_ It was the coldest night he had ever spent, including his nights in the cellar. What madness had gripped him to do such a thing on purpose? 

He nudged James awake as Madam Pomfrey exited the school, bundled up in a heavy cloak and carrying a large basket over one arm. As James blinked and yawned, the matron approached their hiding place at a brisk stride, stopping just out of range of the Whomping Willow's flailing branches. She removed what looked like an oddly-shaped stone from her pocket, took careful aim, and hurled it at the base of the tree. It bounced off a large knot and flew immediately back to her hand as the branches fell still. As Sirius watched, she wedged the basket into an opening between the tree's roots, and carefully lowered herself in after it. 

"I'm going to go have a look," he whispered to James, who nodded. 

He crept up to the motionless tree and stuck his head into a large gap concealed by the arch of the roots. It was dark and cool and damp, but he couldn't see or hear much of anything. 

"Sirius, the tree!" James called a warning, and he ducked away from it just as the whip-like branches began to wave menacingly. 

It was almost full daylight by the time a hand reached up from between the roots to prod the knot at the base of the tree once more. The basket appeared first, followed by Madam Pomfrey. She frowned in concentration and gave her wand a series of delicate flicks and flourishes, first to one side, then to the other, and a bundle of bloodstained blankets slowly emerged from the opening. 

"Slytherin's pants," breathed James. 

They couldn't see much of Remus, but what they could see looked bad. There were dark circles under his closed eyes and dried blood matted his hair. The pallet jolted slightly in its progress and its occupant winced, one bare arm falling free of the blankets to hang limp. A long gash from elbow to wrist dripped a steady patter of blood from the tips of his fingers. 

Sirius was not aware of having moved until he felt James's firm grip on his shoulder, shoving him flat to the ground. 

"Stay down!" his friend hissed. "D'you want her to see us?" 

Sirius shook his head, feeling a bit wobbly. When Madam Pomfrey paused beside the floating pallet to tuck Remus's arm back in, her face wore such a look of tender sadness that Sirius developed an instant fondness for her, and resolved never to trouble her with pranking. 

When matron and patient disappeared through the doors of the still-sleeping school, Sirius let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. 

"Did you know?" he asked James. "That it would be that bad?" 

James shook his head and got to his feet, eyes still fixed on the distant castle doors. "I didn't read the whole book. I figured he was just -- you know -- tired the day after from changing and running around all night. I mean, I know he's got scars, but I never thought --" 

"Me neither," said Sirius, feeling ill. "D'you reckon it's like that every time?" 

James shrugged. "Probably." He reached a hand down to pull Sirius to his feet. 

"James," Sirius said, not letting go of his friend's hand, pale grey eyes burning into hazel ones. "We have to help him." 

"How?" said James, glancing back up at the castle. 

Sirius set his jaw. "Any way we can." 

James was silent for a moment, and then nodded, squeezing Sirius's fingers in agreement. "All right," he said. "It looks like he could use all the help he can get." 

They made their clumsy, sleep-deprived way through the cold, silent corridors of the school to Gryffindor tower, startling the house-elves who were sweeping the floors, and occasionally stumbling into one another. At this hour, Apollyon Pringle had long since gone to find his own bed, and while there were injunctions against students wandering the castle late at night, it seemed there were none regarding the early hours of the morning. 

_Maybe because it's usually only the virtuous who are up at this hour,_ he thought. He certainly didn't feel virtuous; he felt groggy and shaky, and wanted nothing more than his own bed and several hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. Unfortunately two hours was probably going to be about his lot before they would have to face breakfast and Potions and a sulky Peter. 

Peter was still asleep and snoring ungently when they eased the dormitory door open and slipped inside. James fell immediately onto his own bed and yanked the curtains shut around him with no more than a mumbled "G'night". Sirius kicked off his shoes, shed his robes, which smelled of damp and leaf mould, and slid gratefully under the covers. 

He closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of warmth slowly returning to his limbs, but sleep would not find him. As the dawn light filtered into the room, showing red through his closed eyelids, all he could see was Remus's limp and pale arm, flesh torn, blood dripping from his fingers. 

_What must that be like,_ he wondered, _to go through that every month, and never be able to say anything to anyone?_

Until that morning, he had thought of cocksure James as the consummate Gryffindor, but how much braver must Remus need to be to watch the moon wax night by night, knowing what was coming, and never show it? To come to a place where he knew he would be hated, knowing that he could be found out at any time? It made Sirius feel hollow in his chest to think about what kind of bravery that must take. 

_We have to help him,_ he thought, turning on his side to stare at the closed curtains of Remus's empty bed. _We have to._

Sleep continued to elude Sirius, and at last he gave up the struggle with a sigh and slipped silently out of bed. A quick rummage through James's things rewarded him with a heavy, elderly tome entitled _A History and Physiology of Lupus Lycanthropus_. He took it back to his bed, pulling the curtains closed behind him and burrowing deep into the blankets. His tired brain refused to focus, however, and many of the words were long and scientific-sounding. He could gather very little sense from the text. 

_It is a common misconception that Lupus Lycanthropus represents a distinct species or race of beings. Lycanthropy may be more accurately described as a thaumaturgic disorder of the blood which is influenced by the lunar cycle. It may be transmitted only when the saliva of the transformed lycanthrope enters the human bloodstream. The condition is unique among magical ailments in that --_

Sirius shook his head and blinked rapidly, but the words were beginning to slide off the page and jumble into nonsense. 

When Peter's alarm clock brashly announced that it was past time they were up and about, Sirius snapped the book shut and shoved it under his pillow. He would give it another try sometime when his brain was working properly. He pulled the curtains aside, yawning and stretching and doing his best to look like he was just waking up, and hadn't only just got back in a couple of hours before. 

"Morning, Pete," James yawned, smiling easily. 

"Morning," Peter grumbled. "You three have fun last night?" 

Sirius opened his mouth, confused, but James stepped in quickly. 

"Sirius and I got a chance to spy on Tynedale. We didn't have time to get you. Sorry, mate." 

"Yeah," added Sirius. "And then we ran into Peeves and had to hide until he went away, which took ages." 

"Oh," said Peter, looking slightly mollified. "Did you find out anything?" 

Sirius shook his head. "That woman's as boring in her spare time as she is when she's teaching." 

"Did Remus go with you?" Peter asked curiously, glancing at the still-closed curtains around Remus's bed. 

"No," said James. "He had to go home again last night. Remember? He had an owl yesterday afternoon." 

"Oh, yeah." Peter paused in the act gathering up his robes and looked as if he was trying to remember. "I don't remember him saying he was leaving." 

"Well, he did," Sirius lied. "You were probably just so busy playing with your Puff that you didn't hear him." 

"Guess so. Hope his mum's OK." Peter looked a little guilty as he ducked into the bathroom to shower. 

As the door to the bathroom clicked shut behind him and the rush of water drown out any chance of them being overheard, James subsided onto his bed with a yawn, one sock still dangling from his toes. "So how are we going to do this?" he asked. 

"Do what?" Sirius was fairly certain he was going to feel a bit behind all day. 

"Well," said James slowly. "We know now. Lupin doesn't know we know. And Pete doesn't know anything, but he could figure it out anytime." 

Sirius snorted. "Pete doesn't think about things unless you tell him to." 

James made a face. "But he might. And if he does --" 

"D'you think we should tell him?" Sirius asked. 

"Dunno." James's shoulders sagged. "Maybe. That way we could do it somewhere quiet, and pound on him if we have to." 

"I want to tell him," said Sirius. 

"What? Now?" James looked mildly alarmed. 

"Not Pete," Sirius clarified. "Remus. I think we should tell him that we know." 

James shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." 

"Why not?" 

"Use your head, Black," said James, exasperated. 

"You're the one who got sleep," grumbled Sirius. 

James sighed. "D'you remember what he was like when he first got here? He didn't talk to anyone or do anything but study. It's taken him months to relax around us. If we tell him, he'll close right back up." 

"But he knows us," Sirius protested. "And once he realises we won't tell anyone --" 

James was shaking his head again. "We're four weeks from exams and seven weeks from summer hols." 

"So?" 

"So," James explained, "you might not care about studying, but Lupin does. You want to tell him now that his secret's out? Great idea. Then when he can't concentrate and fails everything, he'll have an excuse not to come back next year." 

Sirius paused in the act of shaking out a slightly rumpled set of robes and stared at his best friend. "You think he wouldn't? But -- look what he deals with all the time. You think he couldn't face us?" 

James shrugged. "He hasn't really got a choice about that. But if he doesn't want to deal with us, all he has to do is not come back. You think his parents would make him if he told them we knew?" 

Sirius tried to imagine the dormitory with just the three of them, and couldn't do it. He'd still have James, of course, but somehow, in some quiet, indefinable, Remusish way, Remus made life more interesting than it would be without him. 

The rush of water in the bathroom ceased. 

"So what about Pete?" James asked, lowering his voice. 

Sirius glanced at the bathroom door. "We'll tell him if it looks like he's about to figure it out anyway," he decided. "Or if Remus finds out we know." 

"Fair enough." James nodded. 

* * *

Sirius would have fallen asleep in the scrambled eggs if James hadn't been there to nudge him every few minutes. He slurped down four cups of tea, hoping that would wake him up, but all it did was force him to use the time between breakfast and Potions to visit the loo, rather than sneaking into the hospital wing to check on Remus. 

Potions was slow torture. Professor Slughorn had never looked more disappointed in him or James, and a permanent smirk seemed to have attached itself to Snape's mouth. 

When Slughorn walked away from their Strengthening Solution, which had come out black and rather gritty, shaking his head, Snape leaned towards Sirius and muttered, "Do you miss Lupin so much that you felt the need to copy his performance in Potions? How touching." 

"Shut it, Snape," hissed Sirius as Peter glanced over nervously from where he was working with Matilda Hathersage. 

"Where is the witless wonder, anyway?" said Snape nastily. "Couldn't face another failure?" 

"Couldn't bear looking at your ugly face so early in the morning," James shot back across Sirius. 

Evans, who had until then been absorbed in looking something up in the index of her Potions text, glanced up. 

"It would only make sense if he had a delicate stomach to go with his weak mind," sneered Snape. 

"Sev!" hissed Evans, shocked. 

"Stay out of it, Evans," James snarled. "Your opinion's not wanted." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Evans bit back. 

"Just that if you can be friends with the likes of him --" James jerked his head towards Snape "-- then I don't think much of your opinions or your House loyalties." 

Evans turned bright red, and looked as if she was about to start spitting with fury. 

"You leave her alone," snarled Snape. 

"Or what?" demanded Sirius. "You'll hex us in the back, like you did to Remus?" 

Snape's face went livid. Sirius didn't see him draw his wand, but somehow it was in his hand. He and James quickly followed suit. 

"What's going on back there?" cried an alarmed voice. 

Too late Sirius realised that Snape had turned his shoulder towards the front of the room, concealing his own drawn wand from Slughorn, who was bearing down on them like an overstuffed sofa on a mission. When Sirius looked again, Snape's wand had vanished, but his smirk had returned. 

"Mr Potter! Mr Black! Put those away at once!" Slughorn said sharply. 

"But Professor," Sirius complained. "Snape was --" 

"I don't want to hear it." 

"Please, Professor," said Evans. "It was just a misunderstanding." 

Slughorn's face softened. "No doubt you have the right of it, Miss Evans, but I cannot allow wands to be drawn in a threatening manner in my classroom. Ten points each from Gryffindor, and detention tomorrow after breakfast in my office." 

"I can't believe he got away with it again," growled Sirius when Slughorn had returned to the front of the classroom. "That Slytherin snake needs a lesson in manners." 

James glanced darkly over to where Snape and Evans had moved a little farther away from where they were working. "What about that harpy who calls herself a Gryffindor?" 

Sirius shook his head at that, scowling. "Remus likes her. He'd hex your parts off if you did anything to her." 

"Maybe so," James relented. "It's just -- she's Muggleborn. How can she stand to be friends with one of them?" 

"Beats me," Sirius shrugged, shoving his Potions book into his bag and performing a Scouring Charm on their blackened cauldron as the bell rang. "You going to lunch?" 

James nodded. "I'm starved. You?" 

"Nah," said Sirius, shaking his head. "I'm knackered. Wake me in time for supper if I'm not up by then." 

It was a long, weary climb up from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius couldn't bring himself to face the long detour to the hospital wing. Remus would be back in a few hours, and Sirius would see how he was doing then. He fell onto his bed, pausing only to kick off his shoes and tug the curtains closed against the midday light. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. 

* * *

The creak of the dormitory door woke him. He was disoriented for a moment by the level of light peeping in through a gap in the bed curtains, and wondered briefly if he was late for a class. His bed was so comfortable, and his eyelids so heavy, that he wasn't sure he cared. 

A shadow momentarily blocked the intruding beam of light, and Sirius peered out in time to see the bathroom door open and close. Remus was back. As Sirius listened drowsily to the rush of water from the shower, he wondered what time it was, and whether he could grab a bit more sleep before supper. 

When Remus emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later in his pyjamas, hair standing on end from being toweled dry, Sirius smiled lazily. _He looks better._ He sat up, yawning, and tugged the curtains aside. 

"Hey," he greeted is friend, swinging is feet to the floor. 

Remus turned, surprised to find he wasn't alone, but smiled lopsidedly when he saw Sirius. "Hey, yourself. Feeling all right?" 

Sirius nodded, yawning again. "Just thought I'd grab a kip before supper. You coming down?" he asked, already knowing the answer. 

Remus indicated his pyjamas. "I'm all in. And I ate earlier -- on the way back." 

"Oh, right," said Sirius, belatedly remembering the charade they were meant to be keeping up. "How's your mum?" 

But before Remus could answer, the dormitory door burst open and James and Peter entered, in the midst of a heated argument. 

"You're the one who keeps getting himself detention right before Quidditch matches," Peter pointed out. 

"It's just so unfair!" James declared. "You'd think they do it on purpose. Oh, hi, Remus." 

"Hi," Remus replied, sinking down onto his bed. "What've you done this time?" 

Peter rolled his eyes. "Only threatened Snape. In Potions class. In front of Slughorn." 

Remus looked surprised. "James did that?" 

"Wasn't just me," muttered James, shooting Sirius a look. "I didn't even start it." 

Sirius scowled, lazy afternoon mood shattered. "And I did? You know it was that --" 

"Merlin, Sirius," said Remus, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Why can't you leave him alone?" 

"Like you do?" snapped Sirius. "Let him hex me in the back and pretend like nothing happened?" 

"I just -- don't want trouble," mumbled Remus, staring down at his knees. 

"He is trouble," Sirius informed him. "Someone's got to put him in his place."


	18. Breaking Point

Remus took a slow, deep breath, eyes closed, and tried to empty his mind of everything but the feel of the air moving through his lungs and the power that flowed between himself and Lily. He almost had it. 

_Scrape._ The sound of trainers shuffling grittily against the bare stone of the floor. 

Setting his jaw, Remus put the sound from his mind, exhaling. No, that was no good. He relaxed his jaw muscles, shifting his position on the carpet ever so slightly. 

A quiet cough, as if its owner were trying to suppress it. 

Lily's hands twitched in his and he realised he had tightened his grip. There should be no more pressure than the weight of her palms resting on his own. _Focus, Lupin._

Pages fanning, flipping as the holder of the book browsed for a reference. The sound of the book being snapped shut. 

"D'you think you could possibly do that a little more quietly, Sev?" Lily asked irritably. 

Remus opened his eyes. Lily was glaring over her shoulder to where Snape lounged on the green sofa, books and parchment spread out around him, quill poised elegantly in his fingers. 

"Sorry," Snape muttered. "Didn't mean to interrupt." 

_Bollocks you didn't,_ Remus thought grumpily. 

The three of them were in Lily's refuge, revising for the upcoming exams. He and Lily had paused for a short meditation break to refresh and refocus their minds before moving on from Charms to Transfiguration. It was their second such break that afternoon. The first had coincided with Snape's sudden, inexplicable need to re-sort his notes, which had involved much shuffling of parchment and muttering. And now -- 

"Maybe we should try this somewhere else," Remus said. 

Snape looked up, as if in surprise. "Oh, don't mind me." 

"You know you can join us if you want to," Lily told him, and Remus tried very hard not to let his face show exactly how much he disagreed with this statement. 

Snape wrinkled his large nose, eyeing their linked hands. "As much as I would adore joining in your little love-fest with Lupin, I have actual studying to do." 

"I know you're still annoyed with Black and Potter about the other day in Potions," Lily said tartly, "but if you remember, Remus wasn't part of it." 

Snape shrugged. "Doesn't make meditation any less a waste of time. I can already throw off the Imperius Curse, can't I? And it doesn't seem to improve one's skill at Potions or one's House's chances at Quidditch." 

Gryffindor had lost to Ravenclaw the previous weekend, putting them in dead last place for the Quidditch cup, a fact which Snape and the rest of the Slytherins had already made much of. 

"Fine, then," said Remus. "Don't join us. But at least try to be quiet while we're doing this." 

He was beginning to think that he would have better luck meditating in his dormitory, which was not something he ever would have thought possible before. But James had been keen to learn after seeing the benefits of mental discipline, and over the past week, even Sirius and Peter had given it a try. The exercise had not been uniformly successful. While James seemed determined to master the skill, Sirius had proved too fidgety and easily bored, and Peter had fallen asleep sitting up, and would have toppled off Remus's bed if James and Sirius hadn't tightened their grip on his hands in time. After an hour or so, they had given it up as a bad job, but at least none of them ever maliciously tried to throw off Remus's concentration. 

"C'mon," said Snape to Lily, standing up suddenly. "Let's see if we can get some dried billywigs out of Slughorn. I want to try that Lighter-Than-Air Potion we read about." 

"Why don't you just go ask him yourself?" said Lily with what Remus considered to be an extraordinary degree of patience. 

"Told you," scowled Snape. "He doesn't like me." 

Lily sighed. "That's not true, Sev. He thinks you're really clever." 

"All right, then. He doesn't like me as much as he likes you." 

"I'm busy right now, Sev." Lily turned back to Remus. "Tell him they're for me if you have to." 

Snape threw down his quill and stormed out of the room, robes practically billowing. 

_Drama queen,_ Remus thought irritably as the door slammed shut behind him. "Game for another try?" he asked Lily. 

But she sighed and withdrew her hands from his. "I just can't focus today. I'm sorry, Remus." 

"Because of Snape?" Remus couldn't keep a tinge of bitterness out of his voice. "You shouldn't let him get to you." 

She gave him a hard look. "You could be a little nicer, Remus. He hasn't had an easy life." 

Remus raised his eyebrows. "And I have? At least I picked up some manners along the way." 

She had the grace to look ashamed. "I just meant he could use a little kindness." 

Remus shook his head. "You're too easy on him, Lils. Anyway, I've tried being nice." 

Lily gave him a sceptical look. 

"Well, polite, anyway," he amended. "He still treats me like I just spit in his mother's face." 

Lily sighed. "It's not you, Remus. He just has a hard time trusting people." 

It was a good thing he already loved Lily and knew how clever she usually was, Remus reflected, because she could be maddeningly oblivious when it came to Snape. While it was true that Snape didn't treat anyone apart from Lily with anything approaching warmth, Remus was fairly certain that Snape reserved a special level of loathing just for him. At first, he had only been jealous of Remus's growing friendship with Lily, and while Remus privately thought this was a stupid thing to be jealous of, he was used to being hated unfairly, and he had valued that same friendship too much to make a fuss. But now Remus felt that Snape was beginning to consider him a bit of a doormat and an easy target on which to take out his ire at Remus's roommates. 

Still, he was resolved not to sink to Snape's level, not only for Lily's sake, but also because he knew his increasing edginess was at least partially due to the approach of exams, and nothing to do with the irritating Slytherin at all. Hyperawareness of his own emotional state and the reasons behind it was a side effect of his condition, and the need for control was always at the forefront of his mind. If he gave in to irrational anger, it was like letting the wolf win, even if only for a moment, and Remus would never allow that to happen, so long as he had any say in the matter. 

Instead, he tried resolving their differences in another way. It took him some time to find his moment, and during that time, Snape continued to try his patience at every opportunity, but he found it at last the following Friday after Potions. Sirius, James and Peter had their heads together, discussing the merits of some new prank, and Lily had skipped off to the loo. 

Before Severus could depart with his Housemates, Remus laid a hand on his arm, startling a sharp look out of him. 

"A word, Severus? In private?" 

Snape looked him over warily, then shrugged, and they stepped back into the empty Potions classroom, unnoticed. 

Remus took a deep breath. "Severus -- I just wanted to say that Lily's told me some really great things about you. I mean, I know you're ace at Potions, but she says you're really good at Defence Against the Dark Arts as well." What Lily had in fact told him was that Snape's marks in Defence were almost as good as his own, and certainly worthy of Remus's respect. 

"I'd be happy to show you a few hexes, Lupin," said Snape, smiling nastily. 

"Perhaps later," Remus said quickly, before Snape's fingers could do more than twitch towards his wand pocket. "What I want to say is that I respect your skill as much as I respect your friendship with Lily. I know you care about her and want her to be happy. I do, too. If we keep sniping at one another, it's only going to upset her. Can't we find some way to make this work?" 

A sneer twisted Snape's mouth. "Well, it's nice to know I have your respect, Lupin, but really I can't say the same for you. Your performance in Potions would be laughable if it weren't so sad, and while you might be able enough at Defence in the classroom, you haven't got the nerve to cast a proper hex." 

Remus set his jaw and made one final effort. "I don't want to fight you, Severus. Can we just -- pretend, for Lily's sake?" 

"' _I don't want to fight you, Severus_ '," Snape replied mockingly. "Like I don't already know that! I know you, Lupin. You'd rather hide than fight every time. What kind of Gryffindor is that?" 

"I just don't see how fighting you would solve anything," Remus said quietly. 

Snape smirked, drawing his wand with slow deliberation, a challenge. "More like you're too scared to try. You know I'm better at Defence than you are, and you're not about to try me -- not without those other Gryffindor tossers at your back." 

Remus bit his tongue. He was done responding to Snape's goading. Either Snape was going to hex him or he wasn't. There was nothing Remus could do about that now. But apparently Snape was enjoying taunting him far too much to finish things just yet. 

"Where are your friends now, Lupin?" Snape jeered. "I don't know what you see in that lot, anyway. Potter's nothing but a pair of specs and a shit-eating grin. Pettigrew is a joke. And that ponce Black wasn't good enough for Slytherin, so now he's pretending Gryffindor is what he wanted all along. They're all just a bunch of brainless wankers who don't give a toss about anyone but themselves. How many House points have they lost this year, Lupin? Enough that Gryffindor could've won the House cup? Now it'd take a miracle. But they don't care, do they? They wouldn't care about you, either, if you didn't do their homework for them." 

Without a word, Remus turned and walked out of the room. Snape's laughter followed him out into the dungeon corridor. Whether that was better or worse than a hex in the back, Remus did not at that moment trust himself to say. 

* * *

Since Snape refused to see reason, Remus returned to his previous tactic of avoiding him. This wasn't difficult since their paths normally only crossed once a week for Potions and in Lily's refuge. Remus was sorry to give up that quiet sanctuary, but as exams drew nearer, Snape seemed to spend more and more time there, and always contrived to find innocent-seeming ways of distracting Remus from his studies and meditation. 

Instead, Remus spent his time revising for exams in the library or the Gryffindor common room or his dormitory. Remus had at first worried that this might mean spending less time with Lily, but in the second week of May, a still shaky-looking Dorcas Meadowes had approached the red-haired girl and asked if she would mind helping her get caught up in time for the exams, and Lily had readily agreed. Since Dorcas was not an initiate of the refuge, the two girls did their revising in the common room and library as well. 

_She's adopted another broken thing,_ Remus reflected with mild amusement, observing his friend's gentle treatment of the bereaved girl. _How many more of us will she collect before we finish school?_

Snape had a habit of hovering around them whenever they studied in the library. He couldn't get away with much there -- Madam Pince had a low tolerance for all forms of disruption in her domain -- but he still made himself annoying enough that Remus could only take so much before packing up his things and heading back to Gryffindor tower, there to join the other harried students in the common room, or go to his own room where he might or might not convince his roommates be quiet for an hour or so. 

Not that they didn't study, too, sometimes. Peter was in a panic, convinced that he was going to fail everything, and that his wand would be taken from him and snapped in half. He had had a dream about it that he was sure was prophetic. James went through his notes methodically, making sure he was able to perform each of the spells they had learned in class, and he was still keen to pursue meditation and breathing exercises with Remus. Sirius didn't study much at all, claiming that his innate brilliance would carry him though the exams. On the rare occasions that he did any revising, he could be found taking up more than his fair share of space on Remus's bed with books, quills, parchment, and his own sprawling limbs, claiming that it had a "more studious atmosphere" than his own. 

Remus studied in every spare moment he had. For the most part, he wasn't terribly worried, except about Potions, in which he was desperately hoping to scrape a passing mark. What made him nervous was the fact that this was his first real chance to prove himself -- to prove that Dumbledore had made the right decision in allowing a werewolf to come to Hogwarts. Remus thought he would rather room with Snape for the rest of the year than disappoint Dumbledore. 

While Remus felt it was best for everyone involved that he avoid Snape, Snape apparently did not agree. Every time their paths crossed in the corridors, he smirked at Remus. As he brushed past, he would mutter some new insult under his breath, or cast a furtive pinching or tearing hex with his concealed wand. 

Somehow, he had discovered that Remus's poor performance in Potions was due in part to his strong sense of smell, and the week before the end of classes, Snape had contrived to stumble into him in Potions class and spill some noxious substance down his front. Though Remus had managed to vanish most of it from his robes, the smell was still overpowering enough to land him with a roaring headache, which persisted through the weekend -- his last before exams, since the following weekend would be the full moon. 

Severus Snape would have tried the patience of a saint, and Remus found he was quickly coming to the end of his. 

As he lay curled on his side, bedcurtains drawn against the light, pillow pressed over his ear to muffle any intrusive noises, he wondered grumpily exactly what Snape was hoping to accomplish. Did he think Remus would lose his temper and do something to Snape in front of Lily, thereby incurring her wrath? Was he hoping Remus would give him an excuse to use a real hex on him? Frankly, Remus didn't care. 

_Just a few more weeks,_ he told himself. _Then exams will be over and I won't have to see his face again until September._

* * *

"You can do this, Pete," Remus said with as much patience as he could muster. "Just think of it all rolled up. That way it's not like you even have to change the shape of it that much." 

Peter looked dubious, but pointed his wand at the candle, which once again resolutely refused to become a sheet of parchment. Sirius glanced over from where he was working with James and rolled his eyes. 

"I can't," Peter said plaintively. 

Remus sighed. "You've got to relax, Pete. If you keep holding your breath and squinting your eyes and tensing up like that, all you're doing is getting in the way of the flow of the magic. You don't have to force it out; just tell it what you want it to do." 

He provided a quick demonstration, turning the creamy candle standing on the desk in front of him to creamy parchment with a word, and then back again. Remus was pleased at the ease with which he managed the spell. It was their last Transfiguration lesson before exams, and Professor McGonagall had declared an open class during which they could get a little last-minute help on whichever spells were still giving them trouble. 

By this time tomorrow, Remus knew, this spell would be giving him trouble as all his focus fled before the advancing moon. He only hoped that it would be a light one, and that if he slept through most of Sunday, he would be ready to face the first exam on Monday morning. 

"Give it one more try, Pete. And this time, remember to relax." 

Peter now looked as if he were focusing all his attention of forcing himself to relax. His wand dropped from limp fingers to clatter to the floor, shooting sparks. Remus jumped out of the way, but the laces of his trainers still went a bit curly. 

"I'm going to fail everything!" Peter wailed, throwing himself melodramatically into a chair. 

"You're not," Remus told him, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "You're going to do fine. Can you at least light it?" 

Peter scooped his wand up off the floor and pointed it at the candle again. " _Incendio_." 

The first inch or so of the candle dissolved into molten wax, but the wick ignited and burned steadily. 

"See?" Remus smiled. "You can do this. You didn't tense up at all for that one." 

"But that one's easy," Peter whined. 

"It's easy because you know you can do it," said Remus. "If you'd just treat the others like they're easy, too, maybe you'll find you can do more than you think." 

"Guess so." Peter sounded unconvinced. 

"What about putting it out by magic?" asked Remus. "That's a bit trickier." 

Peter looked at the candle consideringly for a moment, then flicked his wand at it. " _Exstingo_." 

He must had flicked a little too hard. The burning candle toppled towards him, scorching his robes and spilling molten wax all down his front before it went out. 

Peter leapt backwards with a cry, almost tripping over the chair, brushing at his robes. Professor McGonagall was there in a heartbeat. 

"What happened, Mr Pettigrew?" 

"I was just trying to put the candle out, Professor," said Peter, ducking his head. 

McGonagall looked unimpressed. "This is not Charms class, Mr Pettigrew. The purpose of the exercise is to change the form of the candle, not to make a waxy mess." Her nostrils flared. "You may be excused to visit the laundry room. You'll want to see about getting as much of that off as possible before it sets in the fabric." 

James and Sirius sniggered as Peter fled the classroom, and Lily looked up from where she was working with Dorcas Meadowes on turning a brick into a book and back again. 

"Mr Lupin, I trust you are capable of continuing on your own until the end of class?" McGonagall inquired. 

"Yes, Professor." 

When she had returned to the front of the classroom, James and Sirius shuffled over. 

"Sorry, mate," said James. "We'll change up tomorrow for Potions. I'll take Pete and you can have Sirius." 

"I don't mind working with him," Remus protested. "But tomorrow -- yeah. Thanks." 

Peter might be slightly better than he was at Potions, but the two of them working together usually resulted in disaster, especially so close to the full moon. If he worked with Sirius, it was one less opportunity for Remus to make a fool of himself in front of Snape, and he would take it gladly. 

Remus spent the remainder of the class Transfiguring the candle into a roll of parchment into a vase and then back into a candle again. Out of curiosity, he carved his initials into the wax to see if it turned back into the same candle, and was delighted to find that the letters showed up in ink on the parchment and incised into the ceramic base of the vase. 

By the time class ended, Remus was feeling confident about the Transfiguration exam. He walked back up to Gryffindor tower with Lily, Dorcas, James and Sirius feeling optimistic. James quizzed them all on incantations and their purposes along the way, taking an extraordinary amount of pleasure when Lily got one wrong. Lily, for her part, demonstrated an unusual tolerance for Remus's other friends, perhaps in acknowledgment of Remus's recent efforts concerning Snape. 

They were about to turn left to take a shortcut through the south wing of the school when Remus drew up short, listening. 

"-- have another go with the Sorting Hat, seeing as you'll be repeating first year," said a nasty voice. "Maybe it'll take pity on you and put you in Hufflepuff where you belong." 

The others were staring at Remus quizzically, having heard nothing. 

"What --?" said Sirius. 

Remus gestured for silence. Moving as quietly as he could, he drew his wand, rounded the corner, and took careful aim at the middle of Severus Snape's back. 

" _Expelliarmus_." 

The wand flew from Snape's fingers, where it had been pointing menacingly at Peter's face, and Remus had snatched it out of the air before Snape could even turn around. 

"Lupin." Snape did not appear at all disconcerted. "Taken to sneaking up on people in corridors, have you? I would have expected better from a Gryffindor." He looked from Remus to James and Sirius, who both also had their wands trained on the Slytherin. "Going to let your friends hex me?" 

Lily was quickly recovering from her initial shock. "Remus! What are you doing?" 

"I think the question should be, what was he doing?" said Remus. His eyes and his wand stayed fixed on Snape's face. 

"I was just having a chat with Pettigrew," Snape said, leaning back against the wall as if there weren't three wands pointed at him. "That's not illegal, is it?" 

But Remus had seen the look on Peter's face in the second before he had disarmed Snape, and in that second, something inside him had said, _enough_. What surprised Remus was that that something wasn't the wolf. The wolf cared nothing for other people. This was a part of him that refused to stand by and allow someone he called "friend" to be mistreated. 

"Is that true, Pete?" Remus asked quietly. "Were you just chatting? Did Severus ask you for the time or what you thought the weather might be for the Quidditch final?" 

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He looked scared. 

"You shouldn't listen to people like him, Pete," Remus said, still staring at Snape. "He doesn't know you like we do. He just likes to think up the nastiest possible thing to say about anyone, whether it's true or not." 

"Remus," said Lily a touch shrilly, "you don't even know what he said." 

"Oh, I heard him," Remus told her. "He thinks Pete should be a Hufflepuff. Not that that wouldn't be a hundred times better than being a Slytherin, but I don't think he meant to compliment Pete's loyalty and sense of fair play." 

"Hufflepuff!" cried Sirius, outraged. 

"Shut up, Sirius," Remus said sharply. "And you and James put your wands away." 

James hesitated, then did so, Sirius reluctantly following suit. 

"Remus," Lily pleaded, laying a hand on his outstretched wand arm. "You know he doesn't mean to --" 

"Yes he does." Remus gently removed Lily's hand from his arm, meeting her eyes for just a moment and wrapping her fingers around Snape's wand. "Lily, I love you, but Snape is a prat, and I'm tired of hearing you make excuses for him." 

Snape smirked. "I don't believe for a second that you'd hex an unarmed opponent, Lupin." 

"Don't you?" Remus said evenly. "Come here to me, Pete. No one's going to hurt you." 

As Peter scurried over to duck behind him, Remus leveled his wand at Snape's chest. 

"Lily, I'm sorry to have to do this, but he's never going to stop. _Versa_." 

With a look of intense surprise, Snape began to revolve slowly on the spot. Sirius gave a short bark of laughter, but Remus ignored him. 

"I don't like you, Severus," Remus said coldly. "But Lily does, so I've tried to put up with you for her sake. You've taken advantage of that every chance you got. _Celerior_." 

At the command, Snape began to spin faster, a cry of dismay escaping his lips. 

"Remus! Stop it!" cried Lily. 

But Remus wasn't listening. "Sirius is right;" he said. "You need to be taught a lesson. Don't. Test. My. Patience." 

Snape's pale face was almost a blur by this time. 

" _Mr Lupin!_ " cried a shocked Scottish voice. "Stop that at once!" 

Remus dropped his wand back to his side, and immediately Snape collapsed on the floor, retching and whimpering. 

"He's not hurt, Professor," Remus said, meeting McGonagall's fury with fearless eyes. 

"Not hurt!" gasped McGonagall. "Of all the --" She shook herself, straightening to her full and considerable height to tower menacingly over him. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, and detention in my office the week after exams." 

"Yes, Professor." Remus did not bother feigning a look of contrition. 

McGonagall turned from him in disgust. "Miss Evans, will you and Miss Meadowes be so good as to see Mr Snape to the hospital wing?" 

When McGonagall had left and the girls had departed, supporting Snape's limp and shaky form between them, Sirius let out a whoop, grabbed James around the middle, and the two of them led a mad waltz up and down the corridor crowing, "Lupin lost points! Lupin lost points!" 

"Well, they were mine to lose," Remus told his grinning friends. "And anyway," he added, a slow smile curling his mouth, "it would take a miracle for us to win the House cup this year."


	19. Dubious Honours

_R -_

_Wasn't sure exactly when you'd be Back, so it's probably gone Cold by now. But I know you like a Cuppa after you've been Home. See you after Supper if you're not already Asleep._

_\- S_

* * *

"Don't his parents know he's got exams this week?" asked Peter from across the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. 

James shrugged. "Probably. Some people think family's more important than studying, though." 

Peter looked dubious. "Going by Remus, you wouldn't think his family'd think anything was more important than studying. Why doesn't he just go home straight after exams instead?" 

"Wouldn't think you'd be so keen to get rid of your protector, Pete," said Sirius, suddenly wondering if Remus planned to do just that. He hadn't said anything, but Remus usually didn't. 

"I didn't mean it like that," said Peter, looking down at his plate, shamefaced. "I just meant that it seems like really rotten timing." 

"That's why we're going to help him," James reminded him. 

"Still seems like cheating," Peter grumbled, lowering his voice. 

"It's not like we're giving him the answers," said Sirius. "He wouldn't take them, anyway. We're just keeping an eye on him. If it looks like he's having trouble, we'll give him a little nudge. That's all." 

They had planned it quietly in the days since Sirius and James had realised that the full moon was due to fall on the Saturday immediately before the exams. Some of their plans involved Peter, who was keen to do just about anything for Remus since the incident with Snape the previous Thursday. Others, such as the mild Strengthening Solution and Sleeping Potion hidden in the cup of tea left on Remus's nightstand, were just between Sirius and James. Remus should awaken well-rested and refreshed in the morning, just in time for their first exam -- which, unfortunately for Remus, was Potions. 

Sirius wasn't sure how they were going to get Remus more than a passing mark in his worst subject, but he was prepared to do whatever he could, and to keep his eyes open for any opportunities that might arise during the exam itself, and not only because of the really unfortunate timing of the full moon. The fact was that Sirius was still bursting with pride over Remus's unexpected and inspired hexing of Snape three days before. The slimy Slytherin hadn't even showed up for their final Potions lesson the morning after the incident. 

Sirius wondered if it was possible to have two best friends. The word "best" seemed to apply to no more than one person or thing at a time, and Sirius knew that there was no way Remus could ever take that title away from James. The reasons that he liked James were completely different from the reasons that he liked Remus. Remus didn't have the proper appreciation for a finely-crafted prank. His mind simply didn't work in the same wonderfully devious way that Sirius and James's minds did. Still, Sirius was certain that Remus had earned some kind of special status. He would just have to puzzle out what it was after the exams. 

* * *

The only exam James was nervous about was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Would he be ready if Professor Tynedale sprang the Imperius Curse on them again? He felt as though he had made some progress with the meditation and breathing exercises he had been practising with Remus for the past month, but there was no way he could know for sure without being tested, and after the two week unit they had done on the curse in class, Tynedale had not so much as mentioned it again. 

When he sat down at his desk and turned over the examination parchment, he found himself disappointed rather than relieved. 

_Describe the differences between and limitations of each of the following:_ Protego, Muro _and_ Repercuto. 

Looking over the list of questions, he found none more interesting than the first. He glanced up to where Tynedale sat behind her desk, gazing dreamily out the window. If she was planning to take them by surprise with the curse in the middle of the exam, she gave no sign of it. With a sigh, James dipped the point of his quill into the inkwell and began the examination. 

This was one exam that Remus would need no help with. It was now four days past the full moon, and his performance in defensive magic had rarely been anything less than spectacular. The Potions exam on Monday had been a different matter entirely. 

Whether the diluted Strengthening Solution James had brewed and Sirius had added to Remus's tea had had any effect was impossible to say. Remus had seemed just as tired and clumsy as he usually was on the mornings following his absences. But perhaps he would have been even worse off without their secret help. 

James and Sirius had taken desks to Remus's right and left during the Potions exam, glad that Remus had chosen a seat at the back of the classroom where there would be fewer eyes on them. James had been especially keen to avoid Snape's notice. If the Slytherin suspected them of tampering with Remus's potion, no doubt he would have taken great joy in informing Professor Slughorn of the fact. 

The written portion of the examination had gone well enough. Remus had no difficulty with the theory behind Potions, and even in his exhausted state, he had managed longer answers to each of the set questions than James had. The practical exam had been another matter entirely. Professor Slughorn had selected the Shrinking Solution, which they were required to mix from memory, without the aid of textbook or notes. 

Remus was familiar with the recipe for the potion. The four of them had gone over it together a dozen times or more in the weeks preceding the exam, and James was sure that, up until the incident with Snape had cooled their friendship, Remus had been over it time and again with Evans as well. The problem for Remus was actually brewing the potion, which included a particularly noxious herb, aptly named stinkweed. 

James had watched out of the corner of his eye as Remus turned faintly green and his eyes slipped out of focus, but he was on the wrong side of him to do anything about it. Fortunately, Sirius had been watching, too. When Remus turned away for a moment to steady himself and gulp down a breath of less tainted air, Sirius, with an air of utter carelessness, had allowed the wide sleeve of his robes to sweep across the corners of their two desks, knocking his own stinkweed and Remus's onto the floor. Sirius had quickly retrieved them, substituting his own finely-chopped sample for Remus's, and turned back to his cauldron as if nothing had happened. Remus had narrowed his eyes at Sirius's back, but had no choice but to use the herb he had been given. 

Moments later, when it had looked as though Remus was about to forget a key ingredient, James had coughed discreetly and made a show of adding powdered lungwort to his own mixture. 

Remus's potion had not come out quite the right colour, James thought critically after taking a surreptitious glance at the results, but at least it was not entirely the wrong colour either. And when Slughorn called time, and came around to hand out white mice for each of them to test their potions on, Remus's mouse had weighed an ounce less after a dose of potion, although it had also turned blue. 

James scrawled down his answer to the final question on the Defence Against the Dark Arts examination -- _Why has the Ministry of Magic enacted strict regulation on the creation of new hexes?_ \-- and looked over what he had written. No, there was no sign anywhere that Tynedale had tried to sneak the Imperius Curse by him; only his own words more or less legibly scrawled on the parchment. 

The practical Defence exam was a little more interesting, but not much. Tynedale had them line up outside the classroom, and called them back in pairs to demonstrate two shield charms, two neutralising spells, and two jinxes. To his disappointment, James found himself paired with Lily Evans. He had been secretly hoping for a chance to show off in front of Matilda Hathersage. Evans surprised him by disarming him easily. She performed every spell perfectly, and with a grim, no-nonsense expression reminiscent of Professor McGonagall, while James grinned his way through his half of the proceedings. He had to overcome a bit of his upbringing first -- "Never hex a girl" had been drilled into him from an early age -- but Evans' _Protego_ and _Muro_ charms were solid, and she deflected his jinxes without difficulty. 

"Excellent!" Professor Tynedale pronounced them at last. "Good work Mr Potter, Miss Evans. I did think the two of you would be well-matched. I can only hope you will continue to do as well under future instruction." 

"Thank you, Professor," Evans said, putting away her wand. 

"Not bad, Evans," James said as they left the classroom. "Wasn't sure you had it in you." 

She gave him a smile of false sweetness. "Well, you'll know better next time, won't you, Potter?" 

* * *

Peter sighed with relief as he left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for the last time that year and joined his friends for a bit of fresh air and warm May sunshine before lunch. While he was still nervous about the Astronomy exam that night, and History of Magic in the morning, he couldn't resist the lure of an hour or so spent with friends, not studying. At the edge of the lake, they shrugged out of their robes, spread them on the grass, and flopped down in their shirtsleeves. 

"What's up with your eyebrows, Pete?" James asked, furrowing his own. 

"Oh." Peter blushed, plucking at the grass. He had hoped it wasn't that noticeable. "I got paired off with Lockhart, and he made them grow down into my eyes so I couldn't see. There was no way to un-grow them, so Tynedale clipped them for me. Does it look really awful?" 

"You look like two caterpillars are fighting on your forehead," Sirius laughed. "How'd it go apart from that?" 

"Terrible," Peter admitted, self-consciously smoothing his bushy brows. "Lockhart used some kind of bright flash to blind me. I'm still seeing spots. And I got so nervous that I dropped my wand before he disarmed me." 

"Ponce," said James easily. "Flashy spells and hair charms are probably all he knows." 

"I'm sure the written part went better," Remus said kindly. 

Remus was always kind. And patient. Peter hated to disappoint him. "I couldn't even remember what _Repercuto_ does." 

"Well then for Merlin's sake, don't try it!" Sirius laughed. "That's the one that's meant to deflect a spell back onto your opponent. Only, if you don't have the proper focus, it can bounce off in any direction. Bloody dangerous, that one." 

"I just wish Tynedale had given us another go at resisting the Imperius Curse," grumbled James. "I'm almost sure I could've done it this time." 

Peter was only too glad that she hadn't. Even when he had finally noticed Tynedale putting the Imperius Curse on him, he had been helpless to resist. If she had done it as part of the exam, he would have failed it for sure. Remus had reassured him repeatedly that it wasn't likely to come up in the exam, but still Peter had worried. 

"How did Lily do?" Remus asked, turning to James. 

"Hmmm?" James was gazing out over the lake with a faraway look. Peter suspected he was imagining himself throwing off the Imperius Curse and being instantly awarded full marks by Tynedale. "Oh, she did really well. Disarmed me and everything. Are you two still not speaking?" 

Remus looked pained. "It's not that we're not speaking, she's just --" 

"Not talking to you?" Sirius suggested, rolling onto his front to look at Remus. 

"Yeah, something like that." 

"I still can't get over the fact that you told her you loved her in front of all of us and Snape, too," said James, shaking his head. 

"Told you." Remus's ears were pink. "She's just a friend." 

"Do you love us, too, Remus?" asked Sirius, batting his eyelashes and grinning. 

Remus looked down his nose at the dark-haired boy. "There are moments of fondness. I usually just lie down until they pass." 

James laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about Evans, mate; she'll get over it." 

"Sure she will," Sirius agreed. "She has to see what a prat Snivellus is." 

Sirius had coined the nickname in the wake of Remus's hexing of Snape. Every time Peter heard it, he felt a little bit ashamed and a little bit grateful. 

"She'll come 'round," Peter said confidently. "How thick would she have to be to like him more than you?" 

* * *

The Astronomy exam went relatively well, despite the fact that the moon was still at waning gibbous, blotting out most of the nearby stars. Peter was not bad at Astronomy, truth be told. Though he didn't have the natural affinity for it that Sirius did, nor James's easy ability to soak up seemingly any kind of information, he still loved looking at the stars and planets, hearing the stories behind their names, and calculating their movements. There was a kind of beauty to the way it all seemed to work together. 

The exam for History of Magic, on the other hand, was a complete disaster, but Peter had always known that it would be. James and Sirius told him not to worry too much, since they thought they had likely failed it, too, but Peter couldn't help remembering how, during revision, they had rattled off dates at one another, and names that all -- to Peter's ears, at least -- sounded the same. How one was meant to remember which names went with which dates was a mystery Peter had not managed to fathom. 

But exams were over now, and worrying about them would not improve Peter's marks. He resolved to put them from his mind and do his best to enjoy their newfound freedom. When results came out the following week, well, he would think about what to tell his mother then. Of course, she would tell him that he had done his best and that there was always next year, but she was forever going on about how clever his father had been. She never said such things about Peter. 

In the meantime, though, there was the Quidditch final to think about. Since Gryffindor had come out right at the bottom of the ranking, Peter and his Housemates would be supporting Hufflepuff in the match, hoping that they could wrest the Quidditch cup from Slytherin's clutches. 

"Would've been nice to see a Gryffindor victory," shouted Peter over the roar of the crowd as Hufflepuff scored their first goal. 

"Well, there'll be a new Seeker next year, won't there?" said James, tapping himself on the chest. 

Sirius snorted. "With Gryffindor's luck, Weasley will fail his NEWTs and be back on the team for another year." 

Remus did not take part in the discussion, nor did he seem to be paying much attention to the match. Instead, he kept glancing over to where Lily Evans was sitting with the Gryffindor girls. An enthusiastic Matilda Hathersage appeared to be explaining the rules of the game to her, and Evans' face wore a serious expression as she tried to follow the action. Peter wasn't sure what Remus saw in Evans, apart from her being a bit pretty, but he felt bad for being the reason for Remus maybe losing a friend. 

"Why don't you go talk to her, mate?" he said in an undertone, nudging Remus. 

Remus shook his head regretfully. "Maybe later. There's too many people right now." 

"Are you sorry you hexed Snivellus?" Peter asked. "He deserved it. And -- thanks." 

"You're welcome, Pete." The corner of Remus's mouth twitched briefly in a half-smile. "You shouldn't call him that, though. I wasn't trying to start a war; just let him know that no good will come of him messing with me or you. I'm hoping that will be the end of it." 

"You think Sni-Snape will see it like that?" Peter said dubiously. 

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Maybe not." 

"Well, whatever happens, I'm still glad you did it," Peter told him. 

Remus's smile returned and stayed on this time. "Any time, Pete." 

Peter took out his camera and set it on his lap, eyes wandering back to the pitch in time to see Slytherin score. He hadn't taken as many pictures as he wanted to this year, and he was hoping to capture a few memories in the week before they all went home. 

"Why'd you bring that?" asked Remus. 

Peter grinned. "I want a picture of it when Slytherin lose." 

Sirius overheard this and snickered. "Try to get a shot of Bagman's head exploding. Isn't this supposed to be his big moment of glory before he goes pro?" 

"It's the whole reason he stayed on for seventh year, according to the Prewetts." James laughed. "I just realised. The Wimbourne Wasps wear Hufflepuff colours. Imagine Bagman kitted out in yellow and black!" 

They all had a good chuckle at that, which turned into a roar of appreciation when Hufflepuff scored a goal. 

"Hey, you should get a picture of the four of us together," James said suddenly. He wasn't looking at Peter, but past him, to where the girls were sitting. "Hathersage! C'mere a minute." 

Evans scowled at them as Matilda Hathersage hurried eagerly over to where they sat. 

"Yeah, James?" 

James flashed her a cocky grin. "D'you mind taking a picture of us with Pete's camera?" 

"Sure," she preened. 

Peter blushed when the girl's fingertips brushed his own as she took the camera. But he couldn't help grinning when James slung an arm around his shoulders and Sirius dragged Remus in close for the photo. He really was lucky to have such brilliant friends. 

"Everyone say, 'Slytherins stink'!" Hathersage said, clicking the shutter. 

She handed back the camera, but did not return to her seat, instead wedging herself between Peter and James. 

"Will you take a picture of me, too?" she asked, smiling at him. 

The blush returned to Peter's cheeks. "If you like," he mumbled, raising the camera. 

As his finger came down on the shutter button, she flashed him a sly grin, hooked an arm around James's neck and planted a kiss full on his surprised cheek. 

"Thank you, Peter," she said, getting up and going back to the other giggling girls. 

"You'll only encourage him if you carry on like that, Tildy," Peter heard Evans say. 

"Merlin! You should've seen your face, mate!" Sirius snorted, mussing a hand through James's already messy hair. "You looked like you'd been Stupefied." 

However he would look in the photo when it came out, James now looked smug as a Kneazle with cream on its whiskers. "She seems like a decent bird." 

"Shame about her taste in blokes," said Remus drily, and even James couldn't help laughing. 

In the second hour of the match, Slytherin began to score goal after goal. The green stands were going wild, and the atmosphere in the rest of the stadium became more and more tense. Peter was on the edge of his seat. He and James and Sirius clutched at one another, and Remus sat forwards, riveted, as Giles Ogilvie, the Slytherin Seeker, came within a hair's breadth of the Snitch. It was only Hufflepuff Seeker Amos Diggory's quick thinking that averted disaster in time as he barreled headlong into his opponent, almost knocking both of them from their brooms. 

Madam Larkin, the referee, awarded a penalty to Slytherin for fouling their Seeker, and the Snitch vanished from sight for the time it took for Slytherin to score twice more, and Hufflepuff once. 

"If Slytherin score one more goal, it's as good as over," James groaned. "Unless Hufflepuff manage to knock Ogilvie out of the game completely." 

A gasp reverberated through the stands as the June sunlight caught a flash of gold. Both Seekers' heads went up, scenting the wind, looking to see where the crowds' attention was focussed. And then they were off. 

If the crowd had not been holding its collective breath at that moment, the commotion might have gone unnoticed. 

"What the --?" 

"Oh my God!" 

"Is that --?" 

The cry went up from the Slytherin stands, and the uproar was not focussed on the Quidditch pitch, but rather on the stands themselves -- or under them. Spectators were peering down between the benches at something, some of them even getting down on hands and knees for a better look. A few professors were hurrying over. Someone laughed. 

"What's going on?" said Peter, narrowing his eyes as if that would help him see the source of the disturbance. 

"No idea, mate," replied James. 

All of the Gryffindors were on their feet, staring across the stadium, Quidditch match forgotten, until -- 

"He's got it! He got the Snitch!" cried a voice from the Hufflepuff section. 

Amos Diggory held the fluttering Golden Snitch aloft, a triumphant grin on his face, as Giles Ogilvie stared back and forth in confusion between the stands and the Hufflepuff Seeker. A ragged and belated cheer went up from the throat of every onlooker who had not been supporting Slytherin. 

"The Quidditch cup goes to Hufflepuff!" cried the announcer. "Will someone go tell Slytherin they've lost?" 

Down on the pitch below them, Ludo Bagman, face red with fury, was hurling abuse up at Ogilvie, who, once he noticed, seemed reluctant to come down. Confusion still reigned in the Slytherin stands, and while the Hufflepuffs were busy celebrating Diggory, the viewers in the blue stands and the red were still trying to ascertain what had happened. 

"What's going on?" bellowed a broad-chested Ravenclaw. 

A Slytherin leaned against the railing, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, "Malfoy! Shagging his girlfriend under the stands!" 

Sirius's mouth dropped open, then he whooped, grabbed a startled Remus by the waist, and waltzed him around the Gryffindor seating area, crowing with delight. 

James and Peter collapsed back into their seats, laughing helplessly. 

* * *

"Lily, hold up a minute." Remus had only just managed to catch up with her in the Gryffindor common room as she headed towards the stairs to the girls' dormitory following the unexpected conclusion of the Quidditch match. 

She turned, glancing from him to his friends, and her mouth tightened. "What do you want, Remus?" 

"Just a word," he said, eyes moving from Lily to Sirius. "In private, if you don't mind." 

"C'mon," Sirius said to James and Peter. "I need to owl my parents to say 'I told you so'." 

The three of them disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Lily hadn't moved. 

"Well?" she said. 

"Let's go for a walk." 

She said nothing, but followed him when he turned towards the portrait hole in search of someplace quieter than a room full of Gryffindors celebrating the defeat and disgrace of their traditional foes. 

"Going to tell me more secrets to fix our friendship?" she asked tartly, once they were alone. 

Remus couldn't help smiling a little at that. "No more secrets. I don't have any from you now, anyway." 

Her expression softened slightly at that. "So what was it you wanted to say?" 

He took a deep breath. "Do you trust me, Lily?" 

She looked surprised. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, if I tell you something, will you believe that it's the truth?" 

Slowly, she nodded. 

"I've never lied to you Lily," he said earnestly. "Not since I told you about -- things. And not about anything else before that." 

"I know," she said quietly. 

"So I need you to believe me when I tell you that Severus has been an utter prat to me from the start," he told her, "and not just in the way that he's normally a prat to people. He doesn't like you being friends with me. I've kept quiet about it because I didn't want to cause trouble between you and him. I know you've been friends for a long time. But I just couldn't do it anymore. When I saw him threaten Peter --" 

Lily sighed. "I understand. Really I do, Remus. I know Sev's not the easiest person in the world to get along with. He was being nasty to Pettigrew the other day, and with it being right before the full moon, I understand --" 

Remus shook his head impatiently. "This isn't about that, Lily. This is about him being a bully, and me being someone who's not going to let him treat me or my friends like that anymore. You shouldn't let him treat you like something that belongs to him, either." 

"He doesn't --" 

"He does, Lily. Everyone knows it." Remus sighed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe what happened -- what I did to him -- wasn't necessary, but I think that it was. I'm sorry it came to that, though, and I don't want it to go any further. If you think apologising to him will do any good, then I will." 

Lily's shoulders sagged. "No. You're right. Sev can be really nasty sometimes. I'll talk to him. I'll tell him to leave you alone. And Pettigrew." 

"Thanks, Lily," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "I know this hasn't been easy on you. You're a real friend." 

She leaned in to hug him fiercely. "Yeah, well, sometimes having friends is worth the trouble they cause." 

He gave a brief laugh. "Tell me about it. You might want to tell Snape to leave Sirius and James alone, too. They can be creative when it comes to getting back at people."


	20. Marauders

"So how does it feel not to be the biggest scandal in the Black family anymore?" Remus asked, spooning buttery boiled potatoes onto his plate next to a thick slice of steak and onion pie. 

The Leaving Feast was in full swing, and Remus was feeling good about life in general. He had made it through the exams, Snape had not so much as looked at him in more than a week, Slytherin had lost the Quidditch cup, and best of all, his friendship with Lily was back on firm ground. She was even sitting with him and the other boys, though at the moment, she was discussing different interpretations of a question from the Transfiguration exam with Dorcas Meadowes, seated to her right. 

"Bloody marvelous," beamed Sirius around a mouthful of thickly buttered crusty bread. "With that many witnesses, and most of them Slytherins, Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella can't pretend it didn't happen. With any luck, my parents will be so busy with this that they'll forget all about me." 

Remus thought it was a shame that Sirius's family forgetting about him was the best that he could hope for from the coming holidays, but from everything he had heard about Sirius's parents, he thought it likely that his friend had the right of it. 

"Did you notice they haven't even showed up for the feast?" asked Gideon Prewett, who had been sitting with his brother and Amelia Bones in the Hufflepuff stands during the match earlier that day. 

Remus glanced over at the Slytherin table, searching for the blond heads of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, but Gideon was correct. He wondered if they were hiding, or if they had landed in so much trouble that they had not been allowed to come to the feast. Probably the former, he decided. While their actions had been shockingly indiscreet, both of them were of age, after all. 

"Bagman's livid," confided Fabian in a low voice. "We doubled back after the match and hid out in the changing rooms. He says Malfoy cost him the match, and now he might not be able to get as good a salary from the Wasps next year. So now he's going around making sure everyone in the school knows exactly what happened." 

Sirius sighed rapturously. "Narcissa's ruined for sure. I might start supporting the Wimbourne Wasps just for that." 

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," said Remus with a wry smile. 

"Remind me never to get on yours," grinned Sirius, elbowing him familiarly. "I saw what happened to Snivellus." 

Remus had all but given up trying to get Sirius to stop using the name. "At least don't call him that to his face." 

"We heard about that," said Gideon. "Good show, Lupin. That little shite is bad news." 

Fabian sat back and patted his belly. "A good meal, a little drama, a little scandal. An excellent end to the year, if you ask me." 

"Shame we never found out about Pomfrey and Tynedale, though," said Peter regretfully, looking up at the staff table. 

"What about Pomfrey and Tynedale?" asked Lily, glancing across the table at him. 

"That they're --" Peter blushed and went a bit tongue-tied. 

"That they're _lovers_ ," Fabian teased out the word with a grin, as if hoping to provoke a reaction from the girl. 

Lily only snorted. "Pomfrey and Tynedale aren't lesbians. At least, Tynedale's not." 

James scowled at her. "What makes you so sure, Evans? Know your own kind, do you?" 

"Well, if you're going to be like that, Potter, you'll get nothing from me," she said tartly. 

James immediately changed his posture. He batted his eyelashes and pouted absurdly. "I most humbly beg your pardon, Milady Evans. I meant no offence. Please, reveal to us your secrets." 

She snorted again. "Clown. Serve you right if I didn't tell you anything. All right, then. Did you know Tynedale's resigning?" 

The boys leaned closer, interested. They had all heard the rumours that the Defence post was cursed and that no one had lasted more than a year in it for ages, but they had heard no word of Tynedale leaving. 

"Why?" asked Sirius suspiciously. 

Lily looked smug. "Because she's having a baby." 

There was a stunned silence, and then Gideon and Fabian both slapped their foreheads and cried in unison, "Madam Pomfrey!" 

"That's why she's been seeing the matron regularly," said Gideon. 

"And looking really pleased about it," Fabian reminded him. 

"No wonder Pomfrey's tickled," added Gideon. 

"She doesn't usually get more than head colds, broken bones and hexes to deal with," Fabian agreed. 

"Tynedale must've found out over Christmas." 

"She's been all happy and distracted since then." 

"Wonder who the father is?" 

"Maybe it's Kettleburn." 

"Maybe it's Flitwick." 

"Maybe it's Dumbledore." 

"It's not Dumbledore, you idiot." 

"No, you're right. Too old." 

"And too gay." 

"How did you find out about it, anyway?" Fabian asked, turning back to Lily at last. 

"The girls have been talking about it for ages," she told them. "We thought everyone knew. Cecy Hathersage says Tynedale's been seeing some bloke in the village. She saw them together last Hogsmeade weekend." 

Sirius groaned. "That's what she was doing in the village on New Years Eve. She was visiting her boyfriend!" 

"It all sort of makes sense now," Peter said thoughtfully, glancing up at the staff table again. "She does look a bit bigger around the middle, doesn't she?" 

"The robes tend to hide it," Lily informed him acerbically. 

"Speaking of people being preggers," said Gideon brightly, "have we mentioned we're going to be uncles again?" 

"Congratulations," said Remus. "How's your sister?" 

"Oh, she's pleased as punch," said Fabian, shaking Remus's proffered hand. "Always wanted a big family, did Molly." 

"I thought you said -- about pure-bloods not having many kids," said James, frowning. 

Gideon shrugged. "There are exceptions to every rule." 

"And Arthur's practically a Muggle in spirit," Fabian smirked. 

"Only bloke we know who would probably be over the moon if one of his kids ended up a Squib," laughed Gideon. "Molly's hoping it'll be a girl this time." 

Sirius shook his head. "Weasleys never have girls." 

Gideon grinned. "Well, our Molly's a special kind of lass," he said. "She's never been much of one for following the rules when they conflict with her own plans and ideas of how things ought to be." 

"Sounds like a few people I know," Remus mumbled into his pumpkin juice. 

Sirius laughed and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Admit it, Lupin; you'd hate it if we were all quiet and boring like you. Tell me you haven't had fun this year. I won't believe you." 

"Then I won't say it," said Remus. "I might even miss you lot this summer. Who's going to keep me entertained with tales of mad adventures and marauding?" 

Sirius blinked at him. "Marauding?" 

"You know," Remus waved a hand airily and helped himself to a slice of gateau. "What you lot get up to all the time." 

"Marauding," Sirius repeated thoughtfully, captivated by the unfamiliar word. "Does that makes us marauders, then?" 

"I suppose so," said Remus, amused. 

* * *

There was something to be said for long, lazy, sunny, summery days with nothing to do, in Sirius's opinion. At least, there was when said days were spent lounging around Hogwarts castle and grounds with one's friends. Long, lazy, sunny, summery days spent in the gloomy confines of the Black family home with his parents were a different matter entirely. Those days, Sirius suspected, would be spent counting down to September. But that fate was still a glorious week away, and until it was upon him, Sirius was determined to enjoy himself and not think about it. 

At the moment, Sirius was specifically enjoying reclining in the lush summer grass beside the Hogwarts lake with James and Peter, eyes closed, waiting for Remus to finish his last detention with McGonagall, by which time the exam results should be posted, and they could all go and check them together. 

_Remus in detention._ Sirius savoured the thought with a private grin, mentally congratulating himself once more for his part in drawing out the quiet boy. 

He was also still savouring the news the Prewett twins had brought with them to the breakfast table that morning. The Prewetts had heard it from a seventh year Ravenclaw, who had it from his Slytherin girlfriend: Sirius's cousin Narcissa would not be returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year. Neither she nor Lucius Malfoy had been seen since the Quidditch final almost a week before, and the rumour was that they had already been quietly married in a small, private ceremony. 

_I bet Aunt Druella didn't even let her wear white robes,_ he thought smugly. His aunt and uncle had probably saved themselves a tidy fortune on the dowry as well as the wedding. 

A shadow moved between Sirius's face and the sun. "Busy afternoon?" asked an amused voice. 

Sirius smiled and opened his eyes, squinting up at Remus, whose head was haloed by the sun streaming through his shaggy, dark-gold hair. 

"Exhausting," Sirius said, stretching. "Have you come to lend a hand? I saved you a spot." He patted the grass beside him. 

"Not that I don't appreciate all the trouble you went to," said Remus, returning Sirius's smile, "but McGonagall's posting the exam results right now. I thought you three would want to know." 

Peter squeaked in alarm as he, James and Sirius staggered to their feet. Together the four of them hurried back up to the castle, James taking last-minute wagers on who had got the best marks, and in which subjects. 

"You can't bet on yourself for everything," James said, exasperated. 

Sirius pouted. "That's not fair. What if I was best in every subject?" 

"You know what I like about Sirius?" Remus said conversationally to Peter. "He's just so modest." 

"It's one of my very best qualities," said Sirius smugly, "aside from being bloody brilliant at everything." 

Peter giggled and Remus and James snorted. 

"I'm betting on me for Transfiguration and Charms, you for Potions and Astronomy, and Remus for History and Defence," James declared. Then added, "Oh, and Pete for Herbology. I want one Sickle from you for every one I get right." 

Sirius knew James was just being nice, of course. Peter wasn't terrible at Herbology, or Astronomy, come to that, but the odds of him coming top in any subject were almost nil. 

"Done," Sirius replied. "But I'm still betting on me for everything." 

"You can't bet on yourself for the same ones James picked you for," Remus pointed out. 

Sirius grimaced. "Oh, all right. James for Potions, then, and -- er -- Pete for Astronomy." Never let it be said that Sirius Black couldn't be as nice as his best mate when he put his mind to it. 

Peter looked grateful but not terribly optimistic. 

"Any bets, Remus? Pete?" asked James. 

Remus shook his head. "I think you're probably right about most of yours, and I haven't got enough stashed away to risk losing." 

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm betting James for Defence and Astronomy, Remus for Transfiguration and Herbology --" A sudden wicked grin flashed across his round face. "-- Evans for History and Charms, and Snape for Potions." 

"Traitor!" gasped Sirius. 

"Not on!" cried James. "Snape's not even a Gryffindor!" 

Peter blinked innocently. "You never said we had to bet on Gryffindors." 

"It was meant to be whoever comes top of the four of us," said Sirius. 

"But James never said it," Remus told him. "Since I'm impartial, I declare Pete's choices valid." 

"All right then," James grumbled as they climbed the stone steps up to the main doors of the castle. "Are all bets in?" 

Peter nodded. Sirius shot him a poisonous glance, and then did the same. 

"Well, then," said Remus. "Let's go have a look, shall we?" 

The entrance hall was crowded with students, all vying for a look at the examination results posted on the doors to the Great Hall. The four young Gryffindors ducked and dodged around older, taller students, James and Sirius once or twice employing their sharp elbows to good advantage. It was several minutes before they made it to the front of the throng, and once there, they bunched together, defending their place through the strength of their numbers. 

"What've we got?" asked Sirius, keeping one eye on the impatiently milling crowd. 

Remus quickly scanned the list. "Well, the good news is that we all passed everything." 

Peter let out a sigh and sagged against Sirius, who shoved him upright again, laughing. 

"Yes, but am I tops at everything?" he asked. 

"Not quite," said James, barely suppressing a grin. 

"What d'you mean?" Sirius narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his best friend. 

"See for yourself, mate," laughed James. 

Sirius quickly scanned the list of names, his dismay growing every second. " _Nothing?!_ " he cried. "I didn't manage to get the top mark in a single class? Not even Astronomy?" 

But the top spot in his best subject had been usurped by some Ravenclaw wench named Aurora Sinistra. 

"If it's any consolation," said James in tones of mock sympathy, "I owe you and Pete half a Sickle each. You tied with Evans for the top spot in Charms." 

"Uppity bint," Sirius muttered. 

"Well, perhaps if you'd actually studied --" Remus suggested mildly. 

Sirius scowled at the listed results until the four of them were unceremoniously shunted aside by a herd of third year Hufflepuffs, at which point they subsided into a corner of the entrance hall, there to lurk and hash over their varied results. 

James was counting silently on his fingers. At last, he grinned brightly. "I win," he said. "Sirius owes me two and a half Sickles, and Pete owes me one and a half." 

"What about my winnings?" complained Peter. "I was right about Snape getting Potions, and half right about Evans getting Charms." 

"Hard luck, mate," James shrugged. "Once you subtract what I owe you from what you owe me, you get nothing. You do get a Sickle from Sirius, though." 

Sirius scowled and rummaged in the pocket of his robes for a silver coin for Peter, which Peter reluctantly handed over to James. 

"Dunno how you expect me to come up with half a Sickle, mate," he grumbled. 

"I'll cover it," Sirius sighed, dropping three more silver coins into his best friend's outstretched hand. "But you owe me, Pete." 

Remus shook his head reprovingly. "You see why I don't gamble? I only would've lost, and I doubt you lot would want the robes off my back. What?" 

Sirius was staring at Remus. His words, coupled with the exam results, had suddenly caused Sirius to remember something. Something brilliant. Something guaranteed to assuage his disappointment over his own results. A sly smile uncurled itself on his lips. 

"Uh-oh," said Peter, shuffling away from him. 

Sirius turned his head to regard James. "You passed History of Magic." 

"I know," said James, puzzled. "Why does that --? Oh!" His hazel eyes went wide with comprehension. 

"You said you'd do it," Sirius reminded him. 

James looked thoughtful. "I did say so, didn't I?" 

"I'd hate to see you go back on your sworn word as a Gryffindor." Sirius was grinning in earnest now. 

"That would never do, would it?" James shook his head gravely. 

Peter and Remus were looking back and forth between the two of them, bemused. 

"What're you --?" Remus began. 

"Back in a minute, lads," said James, turning towards the great staircase. 

Sirius watched him vanish around a corner on the first landing, and then turned his bright smile back to Remus and Peter. 

"What's he got up his sleeve this time?" Remus asked suspiciously. 

Sirius attempted an innocent look, but it was not one of the most convincing expressions in his repertoire. "Oh, not much. You'll see in a moment." 

A sudden shriek of feminine laughter turned every head in the hall to look at a fifth year Ravenclaw girl standing near the foot of the staircase, looking up. 

"Oh, here we go," said Sirius, pleased. 

The entrance hall erupted in laughter as James Potter danced down the great staircase in nothing but his pants -- worn jauntily over his disorderly black hair -- singing the Hogwarts school song loudly and more than a little off-key. 

" _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
 _Teach us something, please!_  
 _Whether we be old and bald_  
 _Or young with scabby knees!_ "  


_When James does a thing, he does it properly,_ Sirius thought with approval. 

The Prewetts were roaring. Peter fell into a suit of armour, which grasped him by the collar and held him upright. Even Lily Evans was laughing. Several students, including Matilda Hathersage, tried to slap James on his comically-jiggling buttocks as he skipped past, but he dodged nimbly from side to side, and very few succeeded. 

"Cheeky beggars!" he called out, waving merrily to a giggling Professor Flitwick. 

Sirius was undone. He whooped and gasped and clung to Remus's shoulder for support, and Remus -- Remus was doubled over, red-faced, laughing so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. 

" _Just do your best, we'll do the rest, And learn until our brains all rot!_ " James finished the song, bowing with flourish to the looming figure of Professor McGonagall, who seemed to have developed a spontaneous facial tic that wasn't quite a smile. 

"Ten points from Gryffindor for butchering the school song, Mr Potter," she said, voice prim. 

"Worth it," declared James. 

"I daresay," said the Transfiguration mistress drily. "Now, put that garment back where it belongs, and be off with you, before you create a public spectacle." 

Sirius shouted with laughter. Beside him, Remus slid down the wall to sit on the floor, still fizzing with glee. And somehow, that was even better than his best mate parading naked through the most crowded and most public area of the school. Sirius took in the rare sight of Remus gasping helplessly for air, a warm glow of enjoyment burning in the pit of his stomach. 

Everyone else in the hall was too busy watching James's slow and dignified departure, which was why Sirius was the only one who saw Snape sneaking up on Remus, wand in hand. 

" _Oi!_ " roared Sirius. 

Remus looked startled, but his other two friends, recognising his voice, responded instantly to his cry of alarm. Quick as a thought, three wands were out and pointing at the skulking Slytherin, and three shouted jinxes rang out in the confused tumult of the entrance hall. 

Snape collapsed bonelessly onto the floor, unable even to put out an arm to save himself from falling flat on his face. McGonagall and Evans hurried over to the fallen boy, neither of them looking pleased. 

"What did you do to him?" Remus asked as Sirius gave him a hand up. 

"Noodle-Arms Jinx," Sirius said tersely. He wished he had done something worse. Remus had been laughing -- really laughing -- for the first time since Sirius had known him, and that complete bastard Snape had gone and spoiled it. 

"Goes nicely with my Jelly-Legs Jinx, doesn't it?" James materialised at his side, now at least wearing his pants in the right place. 

"Pete?" Remus said, raising his eyebrows at the blond boy. 

"Oh." Peter turned pink and looked pleased with himself. "I sealed his mouth. At least, I think I did." 

Sure enough, when McGonagall and Evans managed to manoeuvre Snape into a wobbly kneeling position, his lips were pressed tightly together, and though muffled sounds of protest and distress could be heard, not one word escaped his mouth. 

"Well done, Pete," said James, impressed, shaking Peter's hand. 

Sirius slung an arm around Remus's shoulders. "That's what he gets for messing with the Marauders." 

* * *

"Chocolate Frog." 

Remus smiled as the gargoyle shifted aside and the wall behind it opened to reveal a moving staircase. It seemed that Dumbledore had as much of a sweet tooth as Remus himself did. He hesitated only a moment before taking his first nervous steps up to the headmaster's office. 

He had received the message that afternoon, oddly enough, from Peter. 

"He told me to give this to you," the awestruck boy had said. 

James and Sirius had had similar reactions. 

"You're going to his office?" asked James. "Why?" 

Remus shook his head. "Dunno," he only half-lied. He guessed that the headmaster wanted a word with him about how the year had gone. He swallowed nervously. 

"You'll tell us all about it?" Sirius had insisted. "I've never heard of anyone who's been in there." 

Remus grinned, thinking again of his odd and wonderful friends as he climbed the spiral stone staircase, and about the small pile of silver coins still sitting on his bedspread. Sirius had declared Remus the default winner of the wager on the Astronomy and Herbology exams, since all three of his roommates had lost on those subjects. Somehow, Remus had managed to "win" even more money than James had, but he had yet to figure out how to deal with the coins. The others refused to take them back -- though Remus strongly suspected Sirius of extorting Peter's money from him -- and he couldn't very well pick them up himself. 

Reaching the door at the top of the steps, Remus knocked. 

"Come in," called a warm voice. 

Remus paused in the act of closing the heavy wooden door behind him to stare around the room, openmouthed. It was quite a beautiful room, in Remus's opinion; circular, with four tall windows facing in the cardinal directions. The walls between the windows were lined with portraits of important-looking people and shelves containing odd, whirring gadgets, a few old but beautifully-kept books, and the Sorting Hat. Remus blinked at this last item. He could almost swear that it had winked at him. But that wasn't possible; the Hat might have a mouth of sorts, but it had no eyes to speak of. 

On a perch next to the headmaster's desk roosted a large, golden bird with long, elegant tail feathers. 

"You may pet Fawkes if you like, Mr Lupin," Dumbledore said kindly. 

"Oh," said Remus, startled. "But -- won't he --? I mean --" He flushed and looked down at his trainers. 

"Fawkes won't mind you at all, I assure you." 

Hesitantly, Remus approached the desk and held out a trembling hand to the bird. Somehow, from its appearance, he had expected it to have an aloof, haughty demeanour, but when Remus's fingers came close, it tucked its head forwards, making a soft cooing sound and offering its neck to be petted. 

Dumbledore permitted Remus a few moments to stroke the soft feathers before inviting him to sit down. Remus obediently perched on the heavy chair across the desk from the headmaster. 

"It's been quite an eventful year, hasn't it, Mr Lupin?" Dumbledore smiled benignly and regarded him over his half-moon spectacles. "Yes, Sir," Remus said, feeling rather small. 

"Professor McGonagall informed me of the -- rather unique way in which one of your roommates chose to celebrate the exam results earlier today." His blue eyes sparkled, and Remus couldn't entirely suppress a smile. 

"James gets a bit carried away sometimes." 

Dumbledore's smile widened. "Well, there's no harm in it, so long as he doesn't take a chill. He's very like his father, our Mr Potter. And his grandfather. Josephus Potter and I roomed together when I was at school." 

Remus tried to picture the headmaster as a schoolboy, and failed. The beard was so much a part of him, in Remus's mind, that he could not form an image of the man that did not include it. 

Dumbledore tapped a stack of parchment with long, thin fingers. "I have here a progress report from each of your professors. They all inform me that you work hard in class, that your assignments are always handed in in a timely manner, and that your marks range from satisfactory to excellent. A few of them even speak of personal joy at having you as a student." 

Remus blushed. "Do they -- all know?" 

"A few may have guessed," said Dumbledore kindly. "Professor McGonagall was informed in September. As the head of your House, and as Deputy Headmistress, I felt it necessary. I trust in the rest of the staff's discretion; they know me well enough not to make a fuss, even should any of them harbour unfortunate prejudices." 

"Thank you, Sir," Remus said quietly, wondering who might have guessed his secret. 

"I have met with Madam Pomfrey as well," Dumbledore continued. "She reports you to be in excellent health, and believes that our little experiment this year has been an unqualified success. However, if there are any changes to the current arrangements you wish to suggest, you have only to mention them to me or the matron." He raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

"No, Sir," said Remus, ducking his head in embarrassment. "It's all just fine. Madam Pomfrey's been great." 

Dumbledore's smile returned. "No doubt having friends has been a help, as well. I understand you are getting on well with your roommates, and with several other members of your House." 

Remus hesitated a moment. He wasn't sure it was relevant, but he felt the headmaster had a right to know. "I told Lily Evans about -- things." 

"I see." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "It is your secret, Mr Lupin, and therefore it is your right to tell it. I know I do not need to caution you on the possible consequences of certain facts becoming generally known." 

"No, Sir. Lily won't tell. She's been -- really great about everything." 

"I am pleased to hear it," Dumbledore smiled. "A man should have friends. But a man should also stand on his own two feet. I understand there has been some friction between you and Mr Snape?" 

"We don't get on," Remus mumbled. "I don't mean to cause any trouble." 

The headmaster pursed his lips. "Please understand, Mr Lupin, rules exist to enforce order. Fighting and rule-breaking will not be tolerated at this school, and when they occur, they must be punished accordingly." 

Remus bowed his head. "I understand, Sir." 

"However," continued Dumbledore, "there are occasions when the right course of action may be in conflict with the rules. Our students are being trained, among other things, to defend themselves, and I expect them to do so when necessary. I trust that, in such circumstances, they will make appropriate choices. Do we have an understanding?" 

Remus looked up into the headmaster's twinkling blue eyes. "I think so, Sir. You mean that sometimes fighting is necessary, but even when it is, we still have to take our punishment for the sake of the rules." 

"Keenly put, Mr Lupin," Dumbledore beamed. "And how do you feel the year went?" 

Remus just grinned. Gryffindor may not have won the House cup or the Quidditch cup, but Remus felt like he had won something much more important: a place for himself in the Wizarding world. 

  


**~ END of YEAR ONE ~**


End file.
